


Mastering Marvel

by niteynyx



Series: Nitey's Commissions [11]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blackmail, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, F/M, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Masturbation, Messy, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26602609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niteynyx/pseuds/niteynyx
Summary: Documenting the (not a, THE) Professor's rise from small time criminal to one of the great masters of the Marvel Universe... or more specifically, the master of its most powerful and influential women. Way more specifically? The ones on earth, but who knows where the future will take us. Mary Jane Watson is just the first of many.Anonymous commission.
Relationships: Gwen Stacy/Original Character(s), Mary Jane Watson/Original Character(s)
Series: Nitey's Commissions [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896736
Kudos: 10





	1. Mary Jane Watson 1

"C'mon, tiger," one famously feisty redhead growled down at her far more famous lover, Peter Parker -- or rather Spider-Man. 

The simple fact of the matter was that though the world knew and loved New York City’s one and only webslinger, basically no one knew who his secret identity was. He was just another broke college student who moonlighted as a photojournalist; the only exceptional thing about Peter was that he was lucky enough to be shacked up with the hottest thing to hit the big screen since Scarlett Johansson. 

Lucky enough, as it were, to have Mary Jane Watson riding his dick like a woman possessed, in desperate need of a mind numbing orgasm and  _ quickly _ . It wasn’t far from the truth. The rising star wasn’t shooting today and had lured her boyfriend home during his lunch break with a risque selfie of her poor pussy, damp and flushed with her horniness. There were no words attached to the picture, just a few emojis. An eggplant, a cat, sweat drops, a woman bowing and a woman praying. The modern hieroglyphics got the point across just fine. 

Most people in NYC would catch the nearest cab home, but for a superhero like Peter it was easier to go as the crow flies and just take noon traffic out of the equation entirely. Once he changed into his costume, it took him all of five minutes to swing home and crawl in through the window.

They didn’t waste time from there. MJ quickly peeled parts of Peter’s costume up and down, shoved him on the bed and set to work, clawing at her beau’s pectorals and rippled stomach with her long nails as her cunt clapped down around his cock again and again, the wet slaps letting the two make the own soundtrack to their quickie. An eager, devil may care grin split MJ’s full, red-painted lips wide open as she felt her orgasm come on, just as quickly losing its lusty edge as it grabbed her focus and threw it out the proverbial window. Whining and panting, she pushed her hands off Peter’s belly and braced herself on their bed’s headboard, putting all her conscious mind to the roll and rhythm of her hips. 

Peter himself took advantage of her sudden opening to slide his hands up from where they had been clutching her thighs, grabbing her breasts and pinching her erect nipples. Though she normally hated the way his hands felt through his suit’s ‘gloves’, it was just right in the moment. The added stimulation was just what she needed to go chasing her lost focus, letting out a sharp and wordless cry as the orgasm she was so desperately chasing ripped through her body. She hilted herself on Peter’s hard peter, groaning out and continuing to ride him through her peak and aftershocks, her slick snatch squeezing around him as tight as ever.

“You’re so fucking good,” she purred down to him once she was satiated, hands leaving the headboard to slide along his arms and close at his wrists, his hands still holding up the perky tits that so many men and women fantasized over after watching her breakout hit, the film adaptation of Wonder Comics’ the Revengers. Red Widow’s costume was a skintight bodysuit that left little of MJ’s shape to the imagination. Millions of people had seen her practically naked. Though she’d never admit it, the reason she was so horny that morning was from reading crossover fanfiction that put Red Widow and Spider-Man in the same universe, unaware that the two fucked every single day.

“Right back at you,” Peter grunted, letting MJ guide his hands back down to her hips, his mask rolled up just past the bridge of his nose. By the set of his jaw, MJ could tell her boyfriend was ready to bust a nut. He wasn’t shy about letting her know, either. “Babe,” he groaned, “Finish me off on your face?” MJ paused, nibbling on her bottom lip as she hesitated.

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy ‘treating herself’ to a ‘nice facial’ (her boyfriend was full of impressive levels of shit, and that was his go-to). In fact, when it came to sex? Watching a man squirm and grunt and groan and finally let loose a load was her second favourite part, right behind having an orgasm herself. The former party girl was nowhere near anything resembling a prude. Sex with Peter could get weird with his altered physiology. It could get  _ particularly sticky _ . In a literal sense.

MJ shivered, remembering the one time Peter came mid-handjob and got her in the eye. She had been teasing him over his ‘web shooter’, only for them to both learn that sometimes it really did  _ shoot webs _ . Fresh, hot webbing in your eye? So much worse than a bit of spunk. If things got messy, though, it wasn’t like she had anything to do today other than catch up on her Netflix queue.

“Alright,” MJ agreed, lifting her ass off Peter’s thighs and scooting back from her straddle until she could sinuously shift into laying on her belly between his legs, one hand sliding up his own stomach to rub over his chest. She closed her eyes, her hand slip-sliding along her favorite cock quickly, knowing that even if she pulled out her old ‘party tricks’ that Peter was going to pop in under a minute. It took just twenty seconds at that point before she heard the telltale grunt and felt Peter thrust his hips up. She pressed her hand down on him, only opening her eyes just a hair to make sure his cock’s jizzhole was pointed straight at her kisser.

Thankfully, she did not get any cum in her eye, managing to close her pretty green eyes just a moment before the warning shot hit her.

Unfortunately, instead of ropes of cum, she got a stream of webbing all over her face… her hair… her hands… the ceiling… “Goddamnit, Peter,” Mary groaned, releasing his spent cockpiece and sitting up on her knees to begin clawing it off her face while she was fresh. She was going to need a hot shower and fast, before it began to dry and became a nightmare to deal with.

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled, apologizing  _ profusely _ over the next five minutes and trying so very hard to hide his satisfied grin. Even though MJ could barely see him, she could hear it in his voice; she knew Peter like the back of her hand. She got her punch in on his shoulder before stumbling off to the bathroom on shaking legs, almost having to feel her way to it.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

“C’mon, tiger,” MJ’s mild irritation was palpable across the phone line. Cleaning up Peter’s sheer  _ mess _ ended up taking most of her afternoon. It involved a stepladder and a spatula. When she was done, she didn’t want to do anything. She didn’t want to see anything. She just wanted to make like a vegetable for a few hours and relax. “And it really can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Sorry, babe. It’s due today and Mister Jameson wants--”

“Yeah, fine.” MJ sighed, “Tell him I’ll drop it off in like an hour or so, okay?” She glanced down at herself. Her agent would kill her if she went out as she was; one of Peter’s old shirts and sweatpants, perfect for loafing around.

“You’re the best. Love you.”

“Love you too. Are you going to be back for--” And -click-. Of course Peter wasn’t going to be home for dinner. Even if he meant to be back right after his work assignment, someone in NYC would need Spider-Man more than she needed Peter’s presence. She knew better than to take it personally, but it made their lives chaotic.

It was a sacrifice she made for the greater good.

Sighing, she tossed her phone aside and went to change. Even though it was almost a weekly occurrence that she could have planned around, it still surprised her whenever Peter forgot to turn in his weekend chemistry paper each monday. “With great power comes great responsibility,” she ranted under her breath as clothes went flying off her. She wasn’t going to bother dolling up and being any shade of  _ presentable _ . “Except, of course, when it comes to personal responsibility, and then all great power gives you is great forgetfulness.” The only reason she bothered putting on a g-string was because it just felt like a yoga pants sort of day. She tossed on a tank-top, a baggy hoodie and a pair of sneakers. After pulling her hair into a ponytail, she finished her ensemble with a baseball cap and a large pair of sunglasses.

In other words, she wore the perfect celebrity disguise for visiting Peter’s campus. The traffic sucked.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Unlike MJ, the Professor planned around Peter’s inability to turn in his homework on time. 

Every other day of the week, he aimed to be out of his office and out of the building by 4 PM sharp. His favorite student’s girlfriend always, without fail, showed up between 4:30 and 7 PM on Monday, all smiles and apologies on Peter’s behalf. Even when the Professor didn’t have work to do he’d find something to make himself look busy, to make it immediately clear to MJ that she was inconveniencing him. Despite that he would accept the turn-in graciously, chiding MJ and always warning her that this had to be the last time. That her boyfriend Peter needed to understand that there would be no more exceptions to his tardiness.

Each time she came back, she smiled a little sweeter to him and apologized just a little more profusely. Sometimes she bought him coffee, sometimes she bought him a snack. One time he let it slip how big a fan he was of the Revengers, and the next week she came back with a poster signed by half the cast. When he expressed his disappointment and gently turned it away? She brought it back with the missing signatures. Indeed, the Professor looked forward to his weekly meetings with Mary Jane Watson, but not because he particularly liked making Hollywood’s brightest rising star simper for him on Peter’s behalf.

Well. He certainly liked that part. He was an  _ enormous _ fan of the Revengers, particularly the Red Widow. With those full tits and bubbly ass wrapped up in a supermodel-esque package and tied up in a skintight latex bow, who wasn’t? He just happened to be a bit deeper into her fandom than most others… with a slight emphasis on the ‘dom’ part. At least, that was the eventual plan. Where others on the internet commissioned lewd artwork, custom parody porn or written smut (really, who  _ reads _ their porn these days?), he had  _ access _ to the real deal. He just needed leverage and the right push, and the actress behind the Red Widow would be his first and foremost, him before anyone else in the world. Not her fans, not her boyfriend, not her agent.

His.

That was where Spider-Man came in. Spider-Man’s sloppiness did not begin and end at leaving a sticky mess of webs wherever he went. The Professor had set up cameras all around MJ and Peter’s apartment -- outside at first, intent on catching candid moments of the two that would let him blackmail the two. It only took a day to catch his first (the two were awful about binds and frankly fucked like rabbits), and within a week he had several pictures of Spider-Man crawling in and out of the apartment’s window in a hurry. 

At first, he had thought Spider-Man was fucking MJ behind Peter’s back; handsome mug or not, there was no way that slim nerd was actually Spider-Man, right? Nope: within two weeks he had footage of them fucking, both of them in costume mere minutes after MJ came home from the Revengers’ set. 

Her boyfriend’s secret identity would make for much better leverage than a sex tape. It was also less illegal if anything went south for him. He was confident that it wouldn’t, though: the Professor was a careful man, laying plans within plans and contingencies upon contingencies. His meticulous approach to crime had served him well when he sold his chemistry skills to NYC’s underworld and supervillains, shielding him from any consequences. This would be the first time he did something for  _ himself _ . The first time he dirtied his own hands.

It was exciting. Today, he would give MJ the push. Next week, he’d show her his leverage.

Someone knocked at the door. He glanced at the clock. 6:03 PM. “Come in,” he called, and Mary Jane Watson sashayed her way inside in her ‘disguise’. He scoffed internally. It would never fool a true fan. Not with those full lips, the way she held herself, her slim but toned thighs…

God, her thighs. On the outside, he smiled, setting aside his pencil and removing his glasses. “Miss Watson! You have something for me from Mister Parker, I take it.”

“Sorry, Professor Uris.” He resisted the urge to demand she simply address him as the Professor. When he created this new identity, he was  _ very _ into Stephen King. He hated Stanley’s portrayal in the modern IT films. Instead, the Professor broadened his smile and waved his hand in a magnanimous gesture as the beautiful bombshell actress made her way over to his desk and set down Peter’s paper. He gave it a glance and suppressed his immediate reaction to cringe when he saw the little bit of webbing stuck to its corner. “Please, dear, just call me Reid.”

This wasn’t the first time MJ had turned in Peter’s homework with a bit of ‘evidence’ left on it, blissfully unaware. The first time it had happened dispelled any lingering doubts he had on whether or not Peter was Spider-Man; he tested it out of curiosity and ran the DNA therein against a sample lifted from a cardboard coffee cup Peter had thrown away in class, finding they matched. Under those tests, he also learned that it wasn’t really a spider web. Unless the two love birds called Peter’s bits and pieces his little spider.

Fuck touching that. He shifted the paper towards him and feigned tucking it into a drawer, instead throwing it into the trash can next to his desk. He’d just give Peter an A. It was the least he could do and besides, it was probably an A anyway.

“Sorry, Reid. We  _ really _ appreciate the leniency, Peter’s boss is running him ragged,” MJ admitted.

“It’s fine. Actually, I’m rather glad you’re here. I had a favor I wanted to ask of you in light of, ah, all the favors I’ve done for you,” the Professor admitted, reaching down to the drawer again and this time withdrawing something: a small, clear glass jar of an opaque ointment that he set down on the desk and slid towards MJ. “It’s a skin cream,” he explained with a patient smile as she picked it up. “One I’m hoping to sell. Teaching doesn’t pay that well, you know.”

Teaching was really just his cover. After his last job, the Professor was set for life. “So what’s the favor?” MJ asked, her green eyes barely peeking over her sunglasses’ rim with the angle of her face.

“Well, I’ve been using it myself, but -- you know. It’s a product for twenty-something year old women, not men in their mid-forties. Would you be willing to try it for a week and maybe provide a testimonial? It would help me a great deal.”

MJ creased her brows and glanced down at the bottle. Trial a homemade skin care product? It sounded like a recipe for disaster. An untimely rash could  _ ruin _ her career, but Peter raved about how brilliant Professor Reid was, so… 

“Sure,” she said, slipping it into her hoodie’s pocket. She didn’t notice the Professor’s smile grow or the predatory gleam in his eyes, the latter soon lost when he replaced his glasses. Hook, line and sinker.

“Thank you so much.” He didn’t lie to her. It was a skin cream (maybe he lied a bit; he sold the formula years ago). It just also happened to be laced with a topical aphrodisiac and a special little surprise he prepared for her.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

“C’mon, tiger,” MJ moaned out, low and throaty and anything but happy. “Harder than that. C’mon, harder,” the world famous redhead panted, using one hand to claw out her frustration on their duvet. Her face was pressed down alongside it, her hips lifted high and proud for Peter’s convenience while he rammed into her again and again, already giving it to her hard, certainly harder than he ever had before. Her other hand clutched her precious Hitachi wand, holding it fast to her clit to keep her pleasure rolling.

While the two fucked like rabbits, the last six days were practically them running a marathon. MJ’s already high libido had been out of control. When they were both at home, they couldn’t go more than two hours without her grabbing Peter’s dick or grabbing his wrist so she could make him feel how wet she was. If her boyfriend wasn’t around, she went for the closest toy. On several occasions, she simply made do with the nearest rounded object. Fucking herself on their kitchen table with a rolling pin was a low point for MJ, a secret she was intent on taking to her grave.

“I’m gonna cum, babe,” Peter grunted out as he pistoned into her sore pussy, well abused at this point, the skin around it considerably reddened. She already had two loads of his cum in her, spread and smeared all throughout her slick, needy hole from his vigorous fucking.

“Fuck,” MJ groaned, and a moment later cried out sharp and wordless when she felt Peter fire his third deep inside her. She let the Hitachi fall from her fingers and began to slump, welcoming her lover’s warm weight across her back as he recovered from their ordeal. But where Peter was satisfied, Mary Jane only felt pent-up frustration and jealousy. Her orgasm was faked, and she was  _ profoundly _ jealous of his. Peter was a great lover and always made sure her needs were taken care of before his own, but for the past week, she just couldn’t cum. 

Each time she stopped Peter or herself from trying to hit that peak, it wasn’t because she didn’t want to, it was because her pent-up pussy was practically begging her to give the poor kitty just a little break, even if it was begging for more not five minutes later. It was frankly impossible for her to do anything, let alone dedicate any brainpower to figuring out what was going on with her apparently masochistic cunt. The only things she had time for were routine activities that were so easy they required no thinking at all. Sleeping, showering, applying her skin cream, eating breakfast…

If she had mentioned it to Peter, he would have probably pointed out that the only difference in her routine between the week before last week and last week was her new skin cream. It may have saved a great many people a great deal of trouble over the coming years.

But Peter Parker was Spider-Man and as far as Mary Jane Watson was concerned, his girlfriend’s sexual frustrations were not his priority. Saying anything at all would probably sound like she was blaming him, and she was sure,  _ absolutely _ sure, that he wasn’t the problem. 

The next time they fucked, she suggested getting kinky. Even ceiling sex didn’t do it for her anymore, and if there was one thing MJ loved it was ceiling sex.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Knock, knock.

4:30 PM almost on the dot.  _ Very punctual of her _ , the Professor thought to himself. He appreciated that. Time was a precious thing, and he loved saving it. Instead of calling her in, the Professor got to his feet and crossed the room to open the door. “Miss Watson,” he began, already smiling. A familiar janitor squinted back at him, one hand raised to the door, the other on his cart. He was not one of the Revengers.

“Oh, Larry.” The Professor’s smile slipped. “Could you save my room for the end of your rounds? I’m expecting company,” he admitted. Larry gave him an eyeful, shrugged and turned, wordlessly pushing his cart on. The Professor rubbed his brow and closed the door, making his way back to his desk. Just as he started to ease into his seat, someone knocked on the door again. “Fucking Larry,” he grumbled, getting up and moving back over. “Larry--” he began, ready to give the laconic man a piece of his mind.

“Oh, Miss Watson.” The Professor summoned his smile back. The redhead looked a bit out of sorts, her eyes unfocused and her mouth slightly open. In a word? Distracted. She was picture perfect without her disguise, in her gray Spider-Man tee ( _ really? _ ), jeans and red pumps. “So good to see you again,” he told her warmly, offering her his hand.

“Yeah, um, you too. Reid.” MJ smiled back at the sight of his, just as much a reflex for her as it was to accept and shake his hand. With that, he had her in the palm of his hand. Literally. He squeezed hers. “Reid? Ah… Professor?” His  _ proper _ address snapped him back. Maybe the handshake went on just a little too long, but it didn’t matter anymore. He patted her hand with his other one and stepped back, waving her inside.

“Why is the campus so empty?” MJ murmured as she followed him over to the desk, taking a seat at his waved invitation. She squeezed her knees and thighs together, shifting to find some amount of comfort, some way she could sit without being acutely aware of her cunt’s burning need, or feeling tortured from just her boyshorts’ material rubbing against it.

“It’s a state holiday,” the Professor gently reminded, giddy inside that the ointment had affected her to this degree. “You’re not here today because of Peter, remember? You’re here because…”

“The ointment. Right,” MJ blinked her eyes a few times, placing her hands in her lap and curling her fingernails into her palms, trying to focus. “It um-- yeah. It was great. I’d love some more,” she confessed, sure that she had seen improvements in her complexion over the last week, if only because she had been told so. “It feels pretty great, too.”

_ And she’s addicted, _ the Professor thought to himself as he beamed at poor little Mary Jane Watson. He reached for a handkerchief, starting to scrub the counter-agent he had covered his hands with -- the special little ‘surprise’ in the ointment was a poison that interfered with the afflicted nerve system, preventing little things like, say, the not so mythical female orgasm.

MJ was cured, at least for now. “I’m delighted to hear that,” he told her with a broader smile, reaching into the desk to remove another bottle and sliding over another bottle to MJ, who smiled as she took it and tucked it into her purse. Before she had a chance to say anything else, the Professor rose from his seat and leaned forward, turning his laptop towards her. “You should see this.” The video was already playing. Before removing his hand from the device, he unmuted the volume.

_ "C'mon, tiger," one famously feisty redhead growled down at her far more famous lover, Peter Parker -- or rather Spider-Man.  _

Mary Jane Watson blinked at the video, then blinked again. Even through her lust addled haze she recognized their bedroom, her body, Peter’s body. Peter’s costume. She gasped, her eyes widening. Though one of her hands kept pressing down against her thigh, the other shot up to cover her mouth. Her expression was mortified. 

_ The simple fact of the matter was that though the world knew and loved New York City’s one and only webslinger, basically no one knew who his secret identity was.  _

Except, evidently, the Professor. “What…?” she began to ask, lifting her eyes from the fetching sight of her ass bouncing as she rode Spider-Man to orgasm to the Professor’s more average features, his once kind smile gone bastardly.

“Over the last year, my dear, I’ve accumulated a  _ considerable _ trove of evidence regarding Peter Parker’s illegal vigilantism.” He laid a hand on the back of the laptop’s screen. “Out of concern for your safety, you see. The man is a menace,” he opined with a slow shake of his head, punctuating the statement with the soft snap the laptop made when he closed it. 

“W-what? No, he’s a hero. Um-- Spider-Man, I mean,” MJ stumbled to her feet, bewildered but hopping immediately to her boyfriend’s defense. She was right, of course, but the Professor was blatantly bullshitting her. He wasn’t interested in her safety, he was interested in her body and anything that laid between him making her his little minx. 

“Mary Jane,” the Professor said more gently, “I need to send this evidence to the proper authorities and press. He’s practically an urban terrorist. Think of all the people he’s hurt over these last few years.” People who, generally speaking, almost always deserved it.

“No, Professor! He’s not, I swear. You can’t,” MJ panted out, her pumps clicking on the floor as she stepped around the desk, almost mindless in the way she reached out for him and curled her fingers into his sweater vest. It was all a little too much, a little too quick for her in this state. Visibly flustered, she took to pleading. “Please, Professor.”

_ Oh, I like that. I like that a lot _ , he thought to himself.  _ I’m going to get used to you saying that. _ The Professor sighed and looked away. “Well…” he began and trailed off, glancing down at MJ’s face through the corner of his eye. 

Tears welled in hers, the shimmering green a sharp contrast to her red face and redder hair. “Please,” she begged. “You really can’t. New York City needs Spider-Man.”

“Alright,” the Professor relented with false reluctance, much to MJ’s immediate relief, a smile lightening her distressed expression. “But only on one condition,” he added before things slowed down and she had an opportunity to think this through. He raised his hands, taking her wrists and prying her off his sweater vest. She would learn better than to touch his sweater vest over time. It was special to him.

His mother knit it for him. She probably wouldn’t be too proud of her son but hey, she was dead and he didn’t feel particularly beholden to the pride or shame of the deceased. “O-oh, yeah. Anything,” she promised, exactly what he hoped she would say. She took a step back and looked to him, all trust in her practically intoxicated state.

“Grand,” the Professor declared and continued without beating around the bush. “Get on your knees and give me a handjob,” he told her with a gesture towards his tented crotch. MJ only stared at him, her jaw dropping until her mouth hung wide open. He gave it a second, his eyebrows lifting expectantly, and then reached down to unzip his fly. “That’s good,” he told her as he fished his impressive cock out, smirking at her open orifice. “If you’d rather suck, go right ahead,” he told her, bobbing his stiffness in his hand before releasing it.

“P-professor, I have a boyfriend and this is--” MJ took a step back when her wits returned, hands raising as her eyes fell, staring in shock at his dick. Horrified as she was, her pussy clenched, her body disagreeing with her mind. It wanted that thing ramming into her snatch.

“Blackmail,” the Professor confirmed, taking a step forward.

“I was going to say wrong,” MJ quickly retorted, wetting her lips nervously. He only shrugged at her, motioning down at himself. “I’m not going to touch that thing,” she told herself more than she told him, taking another step back.

“That’s your choice to make. I’m going to give you until the count of five to reconsider it,” the dastardly Professor offered, taking another step after her.

“One.” MJ’s eyes darted up from the eager cock to his face. As impaired as her judgment was, she could see that he was completely serious. 

“Two.” Her eyes jumped back down. It  _ was  _ a pretty nice cock and not too different from Peter’s in shape or size. And a handjob basically wasn’t sex at all. “Thre--”

“Fine,” MJ interrupted, surprising the Professor. He had expected her to wait it out until the last moment. Apparently, he underestimated just how horny a slut MJ was  _ before _ she had a solid week of aphrodisiacs constantly soaking into her body through her skin. The movie star swayed forward. “Do you have a pillow for me to kneel on?”

“Nope,” the Professor replied immediately. There was, in fact, a pillow on his chair, but fuck if he was going to let her put it on the floor and potentially get it dirty. MJ bit her bottom lip but didn’t so much as breathe a complaint, taking another step towards him before starting to sink to her knees, bracing herself with one hand on his thigh. Her other hand, now trembling, reached up to take hold of her blackmailer’s cock, giving it a ginger stroke while averting her eyes from it, from him. There was an interesting poster about the periodic table to her left. She focused on that.

He wasn’t having that.

“My face is up here, Miss Watson,” the Professor grunted. “You’re supposed to be giving me a handjob, not tickling my dick.” The red in her already flushed face deepened to scarlet. Trepidatious, she looked back up at him and sped her digits, trying and failing to ignore the spreading warmth from her pussy. Or the warmth she was clutching, for that matter. She bit her lip harder when their eyes met, trying to ignore the intensity in his eyes too, the sort of thing that always made her weak in the knees. She ignored her hand slipping down his leg too, and ignored her fingers unbuttoning her jeans to slip inside her panties, answering her neglected kitty’s increasingly needy cries to hop on his cock, gasping softly at her own touch.

“You really need something in your mouth,” he observed above her.

“You said a handjob,” MJ protested, but he was already reaching down to put a hand behind her head and shove her face in and under his cock, her lips pressed against one of his balls. After a moment of token resistance, she opened her warm mouth just enough to take one in, tickling and laving over it with her eager tongue, which she  _ very dutifully ignored _ . She kept the handie going, not even noticing when the Professor’s hand left her and she was free to spit him out. 

Even though she tried to keep her eyes up on the professor throughout the handjob and ballsucking, MJ was quite thoroughly distracted by the fingers she had spelunking her tight little cunt, closer to an orgasm than she had been in a week. She knew deep in her bones if she kept going, this was it.  _ This _ would be it. She was going to get to cum…!

She gasped in surprise around the ball in her mouth when the Professor came with no more warning than a raw grunt. The angle she held him at had his jizz spraying straight up, and of course what comes up must come down. Some of it landed in her hair or on her clothes, but most landed wetly on the floor around them. When the brief rainshower was over, he let out a contented exhale and pushed her off of him, taking a step back. “Well,” the Professor said, satisfaction in his tone. “That was quite nice, thank you. Once you’ve cleaned up, consider us square.”   
  
She reluctantly drew her damp fingers out of her panties, zipping her own fly back up. “Alright. Do you have any paper towels?” she asked, licking her lips to mask her disappointment, something she failed at.

“Nope,” the Professor proclaimed, taking a step back and dropping unceremoniously into his chair, all post-nut blitheness. He leaned back in his seat, glancing down and over at the spatter he had offhandedly tasked MJ with cleaning. While the janitor  _ was _ coming, he didn’t want the janitor to know anyone had cummed. “Just use your tongue.” He turned away from her right afterwards, reaching for some more ‘papers to grade’.

Really, whenever MJ dropped in he was usually just doing the Times’ crossword.

MJ stared at his turned head with shocked indignation, then slowly let her eyes fall down to the nearest cum spill.  _ If I tell him no, he might reveal Spider-Man’s secret anyway, _ she thought to herself, gnawing on her bottom lip for a moment, a plain lie to herself. She slowly bent down, hands to the floor as she gingerly brought her long tongue to bear on the fruits of her literal handiwork, spilled as they were on the cold hard floor. She swallowed it down when she was done and moved on to the next.

The Professor was reaching for his handkerchief, when he heard that swallow, intending to throw it over rather than be a complete  _ monster _ about licking cum off the floor. He stared at the sight of the movie star starting to lap up another load of cum from the floor and after a moment put it back. 

Fifteen minutes later, a shivering MJ climbed into the back seat of her car, still parked in the campus’ parking lot. Suffering as she was, she had packed a vibrator into her purse in case of any sudden emergencies. This certainly counted.


	2. Mary Jane Watson 2

“Y-yeah, tiger,” one famously feisty redhead groaned back at her far more famous lover as he probed the entrance of her wet, tight twat with the crown of his cock. Spider-Man had Mary Jane Watson bent over a desk in an office that wasn’t his. One of his hands was set dead center between her shoulder blades, keeping her torso pinned _almost_ flat to it. Though her breasts were squished between his hand and the flat surface, they were far too large to lose their entire shape in her current predicament. Her nubbed nipples were pressing against the desk roughly, uncomfortable in a way that only made her desperate pussy more anxious for his cock.

Mary Jane’s clothes decorated the room, though it wasn’t quite right to say they were _her_ clothes. Every stitch she wore coming into the office belonged to Wonder Comics’ film division. Red Widow’s first appearance as a civilian in the Revengers films had become highly fetishized. Jeans, painfully tall stilettos, a blouse -- it was ridiculous that anyone could consider it more lewd than the Red Widow’s skintight bodysuit, but some people preferred a little mystery. Spider-Man had all but ripped the prized costume to tatters as he got it off her, and MJ knew she’d have to make up an excuse so the costuming department didn’t get on her ass.

The only things left intact were the heels and in a sense of her words, her panties. He had torn the crotch and ass straight out of them, leaving both of her holes framed in tattered black lace, vulnerable to whatever the masked vigilante may want to do to them. Such as, say, torture MJ. She wanted nothing more than for Spidey to ram his hard spider-cock deep into her cunt, but he only kept teasing her, rubbing his blunt crown up and down her damp cunt’s lips. Try as she might, she couldn’t bite back the moan that came so easily to her lips. Once she heard Spidey’s self-satisfied chuff behind her, she knew without being explicitly told what she had to do what she wanted. What she had to say if she wanted to get fucked. “Please,” MJ groaned. “Stuff that hard cock in your Spider-slut’s pussy, Spider-Man. Fuck your bitchy little Red Widow.”

It was so perverse, fucking in the Professor’s office, both of them in costume even if MJ was marginally less so.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Spider-Man chuffed again, although his voice was deeper than it should have been, more matured. Aged. Mary Jane Watson hated that she needed this, hated that she had no other way to get it than to debase herself. Yet when she got it, she forgot about all of that. Her hate vanished. It melted, driven from her body as Spidey’s cock pushed into it, claiming her tight snatch once again. Satisfaction welled in its place, warming her belly and her heart just the same as it heated her wet, cock-filled cunt. Her groan became a cry of raw pleasure, pitching higher and higher until she all but shrieked her orgasm, the sensations sending powerful shivers all throughout her body. It felt like an eternity to her, between how long he had teased her body and how strong an orgasm it was after two weeks of desperation.

“Come on,” Spidey scoffed, his cock stuffed only two inches inside of MJ’s pussy. His hand slid up from her back to grab hold of her hair, yanking it back hard and making her crane her neck with a gasp of shock and surprise. His other hand clapped down on her bubbly ass with a sharp thwack that made her cry out again, though not with anything approaching reproach or displeasure. Surprise, sure, but even a couple of inches of cock was enough to brighten MJ’s day. “There’s no way you cummed that quickly,” he told her as he sank his fingers into her ass’ cheek, a red print already forming on it that was far more colorful than her hair. “Don’t fake it.”

“I-I’m not,” MJ moaned out, throaty and breathless, her green eyes half-lidded and hazy with lust. With her hair pulled back, she could only stare at the wall before her. Spidey scoffed at her answer and rewarded it with more of his cock, not just shoving it right into her but making sure to grind it _right_ up against that special little spot in her cunt. Once again she shivered and she curled her fingers against the desk, her long nails almost threatening to rake small furrows in the polished wood. The noise pouring out of her throat became far more ragged, and even though she had just cummed -- even though she was being _accused_ of faking it -- she could feel herself on the verge once more. She had to say something. She knew that she needed to convince him of her honesty.

She couldn’t take a punishment. She truly couldn’t. He made her go two weeks already, constantly horny but unable to cum. Before that, he made her go a week. What would be next? Three weeks? Mary Jane Watson was sure that would be the end of her. It wouldn’t, of course. If she went cold turkey for that long at this point, she’d have an awful month and then go right back to normal -- but MJ didn’t know that, and even if she did the thought of that cruel torture remained unbearable. Her unfocused eyes moved over the wall, and her distracted mind latched on to the first thing that she saw, the first glimmer of hope. “P-please, Professor,” she panted, staring at the Professor’s framed diploma, proudly declaring his degree. “I’m not faking it, I’m not faking it, I’m not-- I’m--”

Spidey’s hand clapped down on her ass again, so much rougher, cutting off MJ’s pleas with a sharp gasp. Pain, pleasure… with his cock inside of her, she couldn’t tell the difference between the two anymore. It pushed her closer to the edge she was already teetering on. It shut her up and made her wrench her eyes shut. Inside her heels, her toes began to curl. Any thought of avoiding the punishment she feared vanished, lost in the ecstasy that would hit her any moment now. Her breath hitched and held in anticipation, only forced out of her lungs when he rammed himself hilt-deep inside of her. The force of his thrust had his sack bouncing against her clit, still damp with saliva from when he made her lick and suck on them. “Oh,” she whispered to herself, “fuck.”

It was about to happen. “I told you not to call me that in costume,” the Professor complained, his normal voice only slightly muffled by the mask of his store bought Spider-Man costume. It set him back thirty dollars. He could afford better, but he didn’t need better. Short of stealing Peter’s suit, he wasn’t going to find one that was truly convincing. There was a unique delight in fucking Spider-Man’s woman dressed up in a trashy facsimile of the real deal. “You’re a bad bitch, Mary Jane Watson,” he growled, dropping any pretense of deepening his voice now as he shifted forward. His grip in her hair went near her scalp. He made sure it was tight and secure before he shoved her face down against the desk, her cheek pressed against the surface just the same as her tits were. “Clearly, your last punishment didn’t go far enough.” 

She didn’t hear him. He didn’t even hear himself. The rough treatment was what ushered in MJ’s second orgasm, but it wasn’t the spanking or his hard thrust or even the way his spit shined balls slapped her clit. It was her cheek hitting the desk; indeed, all the lines between pain and pleasure were blurred for her. The way Mary Jane Watson wailed out on the Prof’s cosplayed cock drowned both of them out, fueled by her debauched pleasure. If someone was passing by the Professor’s office and heard her screaming, they certainly wouldn’t think she was in there under duress, that she was blackmailed into being the Professor’s professional cockholster.

Larry the janitor shook his head and moved away from the door, resuming his mopping duties. He never would have thought Professor Reid Uris would have it in him to fuck one of his students. Though it was highly unethical, the university didn’t pay Larry nearly enough to care, let alone report it. He had no reason not to let the girl earn her A, he just hoped the Professor didn’t shortchange her with an A-; the redhead he saw visiting the Professor so frequently now was supermodel hot and oddly familiar.

Not that Mary Jane Watson was his student, of course, and not that Larry would even care to learn better. Peter’s chemistry professor shook his head, deeply amused by how much of a moaning mess he had reduced MJ to. He didn’t show it, instead frowning as he reached up to peel off his Spider-Man costume’s mask. “Mary,” he sighed as he set it aside, readjusting his grip in the famous movie star’s hair. Panting hot and heavy, MJ didn’t seem to hear him; anything more complicated than rolling her hips to stir up her insides with his cock seemed beyond her in that moment. “You’re going to need to think of a way to make this up to me,” he chided, “or I’m going to have to take _drastic action_ to make sure you stop faking your orgasms.”

That got her attention, at least. “P-please, Spidey, I-I won’t,” she groaned out desperately, but the Professor clicked his tongue in sharp disapproval. He drew his cock back just a scant few inches before slamming it home again, setting the only proper rhythm for a bitch of MJ’s caliber. Each of his thrusts was short and deep, the crown of his cock pressing up against one of her weak spots. The stimulation had her gasping, increasingly hoarse and breathless, and each time the Professor heard that noise he made sure to slap her ass again. Within a minute, both of her pert asscheeks were bright pink. One was sure to bruise.

“Miss Watson,” the Professor growled as he laid into her body with both cock and palm, straining himself to resist the delicious way her cunt tried to milk the cum out of his hot rod. “I told you not to call me that when-- I’m out-- of costume!” He punctuated the last syllable with one last slap across her ass, then let go of her hair and grabbed her hips in both hands. Nevermind the fact he was still in _most_ of the costume and she couldn’t have known that he had removed the mask; he didn’t have to be fair to her, not ever. So long as he could hang Spider-Man’s secret identity over Mary Jane Watson’s head, so long as she remained addicted to his concoctions, she was his.

MJ stiffened beneath the Professor as he forced her to the verge of another orgasm, her third in a humiliatingly short window of time. If her face wasn’t already flushed from arousal and pleasure, shame surely would have colored her features. The Professor’s regimen of teasing, denial and whatever fucking drug he was giving her had all but eroded her sexual stamina while leaving her body overly sensitive. She wasn’t just easy for him to please; she had grown addicted to his cock and could only deny it at her most lucid, when she was away from it for long enough that her cunt didn’t wetten at the very thought of his dick. Unable to cry out again, she came with a shiver and a keening whimper, her body releasing all its taut pressure in one spreading wave. Her legs shook and sagged, and she could feel them begin to give out beneath her.

She let it happen, fine with falling to the floor. Fine with anything, so long as she had his cock in her. Luckily or unluckily for her, the Professor was unable to resist her cunt’s wet hot hug past that point. His final thrust hilted him again in her snatch and his hips pinned hers to the desk, preventing her fall. Finally groaning his own satisfaction, the Professor poured his thick, hot jizz right into her womb, leaving her filled up and fully aware of it. He slapped her ass one final time, then simply braced himself on the desk. Both of them breathed hard, doing nothing more than getting their lungs under control once more.

As MJ’s breathing evened out, her eyelashes fanned over her eyes. Like this -- sore but relaxed, thoroughly fucked and filled -- MJ could pretend the weight she felt keeping her slack body against the desk was the real Spider-Man. Her tiger, her Peter. His cum in her cunt, not some other man’s. It felt like an eternity since she had gotten _anything_ out of sex with her boyfriend; unable to cum on his cock, she was increasingly divorced from their fucking, zoning out and putting her mind elsewhere. Putting her mind here in this office, usually, trying to force her cunt to acquiesce by imagining it was the Professor pumping himself into her pussy, not Peter. Laying there, she realized she could _always_ pretend the Professor’s cock was really Peter’s.

Laying there, she realized she didn’t need to. She couldn’t even remember the differences between the two of them anymore. Complex feelings stirred within her, making her swallow thickly as she tried to focus on them. As the Professor slid out of her cunt and stepped away from her, she lost the support that had been keeping her upright. Her unsteady legs swayed without Peter’s -- _the Professor_ , she reminded herself -- weight pinning her, but enough time had passed that she didn’t simply buckle. _I gotta get my head on straight,_ MJ thought, without realizing why. The thought wasn’t driven by outsmarting the Professor or getting out of this situation. 

She had to think up a way to make everything up to him, whether or not she had actually been faking orgasms. It didn’t matter that they both knew better. With a soft groan, MJ began to pick herself up and off the desk. At least she could get out of the office now and figure out what she and Peter were going to have for supper. Yet before she could even begin to straighten, the Professor grabbed her hips and twisted her about. She squealed her surprise as he hiked her off the ground and placed her back down on the desk. Before she even had a chance to glance askance at the Professor, he had her yelping with a slap across her tit, making one of her erect nipples sting like a motherfucker. Cock or not, womb full of cum or not, she felt her sodden cunt get wetter. Before all this shit with the Professor, she thought there was a limit to how damp one woman could get.

The Professor stepped around her, grabbing her body and positioning it just the way he wanted it, her head just hanging over its side. MJ’s view of the room disappeared, replaced by the sight of Reid Uris’ cock and balls directly over her face. If she craned her neck just a little bit, she could see the fabric of his costume’s pants, albeit ripped open for the junk dangling just over her features. Knowing what he wanted from her without being told, she parted her lips and sucked in one of his nuts and let her eyes drift shut, again pretending it was her boyfriend’s. At least that way, she had an excuse for the sedate contentment that spread through her body while she was tasting his balls.

The last thing that Mary Jane saw before she began was the Professor grab his cock and start stroking it. As far as she knew, it didn’t even get soft after he came inside of her. It was, without a doubt, a fantastic trait in any male lover -- who wasn’t blackmailing their partner over the cucked party’s secret identity, anyway. She didn’t see what the Professor was doing with his other hand while she played with his nut in her mouth, not even bothering to open her eyes when he tapped her cheek to signal it was time to switch testicles. It had become a ritual, simple and familiar. 

He had her phone in his other hand. 

When the Professor finished installing his spyware on it and had covered up his tracks, he began to idly pick through Mary Jane’s texts, her contacts. A chemist by trade, the Professor had little practical experience with programming. He had paid top dollar for the suite of spying software he was using, and he intended for her to never know that he had touched her device. Yet a face on the phone caught his eye. Intrigued, he casually opened MJ’s InstaPhot app and searched for that face amongst the handful of accounts she was following. _Bingo_. When he began to look at the pictures on that woman’s account, he found himself jerking himself all the harder, picturing the possibilities in his mind. 

Surprising even himself, the Professor came quickly, his cock spurting a white hot mess all over MJ’s stomach and pelvis. He released his cock with a sigh and squinted at MJ’s phone for several seconds before making a decision. “Tell me about Gwen Stacy.” Dead silence.

Mary Jane Watson did not want to talk about Gwen Stacy. She was clearly uncomfortable the moment that the Professor mentioned her blonde friend, which _immediately_ told the Professor that there was something juicy to be found. He glanced at the clock. It was five thirty. If he didn’t wrap this up and head home soon, he was going to miss the series finale of his favourite guilty pleasure; Paranormal, the story of twin sisters traveling America in their Toyota Prius, fighting off the latest monster of the week while occasionally joined by their big titty angel friend. He needed to see how it ended, and he needed to know if Diana and Cassandra finally kissed on camera.

There were going to be riots if the writers turned out to be lez-baiting their audience for fifteen seasons, and though the Professor wouldn’t admit it, he would be out there with them. He glanced at the phone again, torn. He could always watch the episode later, but it wouldn’t be the _same_ as watching it live with the rest of the Paranormal fandom. And what if someone managed to spoil it for him before he got home? It was a great risk. Was Gwen Stacy worth it? 

Her last post on InstaPhot was a beachside bikini shot. Something was familiar about her, sprawled out as she was on a pink and white towel. The fantastic curve of her thick ass was barely visible, teasing so much more and stirring new life into his cock before it could even grow soft. Since making a regular event out of fucking his own personal Revenger, he had begun to test new drugs on himself that all but eliminated his refractory period and increased his stamina. He never pushed that to its limit, though, never keeping MJ more than a few hours.

“Fine,” the Professor decided, stepping around the desk again to line his cock up with MJ’s thoroughly fucked pussy. He texted a quick excuse to Peter, lazily explaining why she would be home late, then tossed MJ’s phone on one of the nearby chairs. “Be like that. Make me miss Paranormal,” he complained as he grabbed MJ’s knees and spread her legs wide. “See if I care,” he ranted bitterly.

“W-what?” Mary Jane gasped, lifting her head to better meet the Professor’s eyes, but quickly getting pushed back down by the flat of his hand. Considering she wasn’t a telepath and privy to what the Professor was thinking, she was completely lost on what was about to happen and why he was suddenly so agitated. Though she felt sore, she wasn’t about to complain at the prospect of more sex.

The Professor got home around nine PM, giddy with the last words he had fucked out of MJ. “S-she’s Ghost-Spider,” MJ whispered deliriously, practically high on cum and endorphins. As disappointing as it was to have missed his show, that little tidbit of information was _more_ than worth its cost.

On the other hand, MJ got home at around eleven. She took an hour to recover, and then another hour to find a shower she could reach without anyone seeing just how plastered the Revenger’s Red Widow was with spunk. Peter wasn’t home, out doing the best he could for the people of New York City, unaware of how Mary Jane Watson was supporting him in the shadows by preventing his identity from being leaked.

At least, that’s what she told herself while she found her Hitachi and her favourite dildo. 


	3. Mary Jane Watson 3

In a room full of twenty-something women, the Professor stood out like a sore thumb. It was impossible not to be acutely aware of how many hot, fit women surrounded him. If he was being honest with himself, he expected a lot more mom bods at his new Yoga class, not that he was complaining. It was just that if he knew the demographics at play, he would have worn far looser pants to his first session, or at least figured out a way to subdue his libido. By the way some of the women glanced at him, he was absolutely certain that they had noticed his raging erection. At least they were open-minded about it and didn’t seem grossed out. Some of them giggled at him, while others smirked.

With the way the sweat was rolling off of him and the way his limbs ached from holding various different poses, he was frankly surprised it was still going. Forty minutes of Yoga felt like three hours of torture to him. It was necessary, though. He needed to scope out the yoga class -- the building it was in, the changing rooms, and so on. More than that, he needed to make contact with its teacher, a perky young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair. He needed to get to know her, at least a little bit. Just enough that he could get his foot in the door with her, just enough so that he could make his move when the time was right.

It would be more exhilarating if he didn’t want to just curl up on his mat and die. Really, it wouldn’t be so bad if he hadn’t spent almost seven straight hours fucking MJ the other day, but he was far too interested at the prospect of getting dirt on Ghost-Spider, or rather proof of her secret identity. In fact…

The Professor let himself slump down on the mat, letting out a great big sigh of relief as he took pressure off his sore limbs. He took a glance around the room. Everyone else was in the Downward Dog position. It was a stupid name, but a fitting one. He’d be happy to go at any one of the ladies there doggy style, but the prize was at the head of the room. Gwen’s mat was slightly elevated, making sure the entire class could see their teacher bend her athletic body into the poses they were to mimic. 

He couldn’t see Gwen’s head in Downward Dog, but that was fine. Her stretched-out legs and her thick ass were a sight to behold, their respective shape clearly visible through her yoga pants, white with pink panels running up the side. Really, her clear penchant for her suit’s colors was almost insultingly obvious when you knew what she did at night. If there were any justice in the world, he’d be able to get up and head over to Gwen. He’d be able to rip those yoga pants wide open and stretch her ass out with his cock. She could surely take it without breaking her pose. Hell, she probably wouldn’t even care that the class was watching them go at it.

So tempting.

“And break,” Gwen’s sweet voice called out to her class. Everyone but the lone man in the room eased into a more casual position. Gwen herself turned back towards the room, her long blonde hair shaved close to her head on one side while it grew long on the top and the other side, giving her a casual but spunky look at first glance. As fine as his frontside view of Gwen was, he found himself preferring the reverse. According to the Professor’s research, she was a college student making ends meet here and at another part-time job. He’d have plenty of opportunities in due time. It was just a matter of picking and choosing which to pursue, and when. 

The class went on another twenty minutes before ending for the day. The Professor stayed behind after all the other women left, approaching Gwen as he mopped at himself with a towel. She turned towards him, greeting him with a friendly and open smile. “Reid, right? Looks like you got your money’s worth today,” she noted with a quick glance at his sweaty body. “We don’t get a lot of men here, so I hope you felt welcome.” Her eyes dipped a bit lower, too, and she clearly noticed the solid erection his pants were still rocking. After a pause, she met his eye again and kept on smiling, not seeming to react to it whatsoever.

“Absolutely,” ‘Reid’ lied. Wondrous ass or not, he had decided yoga was a cruel and unusual form of torture best reserved for those into that sort of thing. He just wouldn’t let it get in the way of his plans for the elusive Ghost-Spider. “Might have to take it slower next time, though. I’m not cut out for all that stretching,” he smiled, forcing self-deprecation. “Desk job and all that.”

“Slower?” Gwen’s friendly smile quirked into an equally friendly grin. She reached out and surprised Reid when she ran her short, manicured nails along his bicep. When her fingers reached his elbow, she trailed them a bit further to his forearm and curled her long, graceful fingers around. She gave it a quick squeeze. “You look like you could take it a  _ lot _ faster than that, Mister Uris,” she teased, her eyes flashing flirtatiously with humour. Her grin slimmed down considerably, her teeth grazing at the swell of her bottom lip as she met his eyes. There was something devious about her expression. “Though I bet you  _ do _ … know your way around a desk.”

The Professor stared back, absolutely baffled at how this college-aged babe seemed to be blatantly hitting on him. It was completely and utterly unexpected. For a moment and just a moment, something suspiciously close to guilt assailed the Professor. Did he really need to be plotting  _ anything _ against this beautiful woman, who so readily displayed her interest in him? With her blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skin she may as well have been an angel, albeit one that dropped by some punk rock show and found a barber in the mosh pit. Her precious, nay,  _ perfect _ hand slid its way back up his arm. It followed the curve of his shoulder and spread, her flat palm roaming down his chest and then down his stomach.

He swallowed a thick lump of nerves that he had yet to notice form in his throat. Was this going to happen? Right here, in the yoga class? Just like that? Perhaps there was good in the world. The Professor let his eyes fall shut. He could fall in love with a perfect woman like this. That love might even make him regret blackmailing Mary Jane Watson and constantly sending her home to her boyfriend full of his spunk. Not  _ too _ much, though; she was a fantastic lay and sucked cock like she worked in Porn Valley, not Hollywood. And besides, if he hadn’t blackmailed her, he never would have met Gwen Stacy.  _ His _ Gwen Stacy,  _ his _ Ghost-Spider. Her fingers trailed and trailed, though they didn’t run down the front of his pants or even under the waistband like he might have expected. Instead, her hand slipped around his hip. His eyes practically popped open when she copped a feel of his ass, his brows shooting up high. 

But she didn’t grab the Professor’s ass. She just patted it and slipped her hand away, grinning again and winking as she stepped just out of his reach. “There’s my business card. If you’re ever feeling too embarrassed to come to this class, I do private one-on-ones,” she told him, cutting her flirtatious behaviour with the business acumen of a broke-ass college student without a safety net. “It costs a  _ bit _ more, but you don’t have to worry about being the only guy in a class of women. And,” she added a bit more saucily as she began to walk backwards, towards the door, “you get  _ all _ my attention. Sounds like fun, right?”

“Y-yeah,” the Professor said, only able to stare after her. She blew a kiss at him, then gave a sharp turn on her heel and ventured out. Her strutting steps had her hips swinging, hypnotic in how they showcased her thick but toned ass. The door shut and the Professor was left alone in the yoga studio’s classroom, just him and his proverbial teacher’s assistant. What had just happened?

It took a good minute to dawn on him that Gwen Stacy hadn’t been flirting with him. Not the way he had fooled himself into hoping for, anyway. He reached back into his back pocket (he hadn’t ever realized these pants  _ had _ a back pocket) and took out the card she sneaked in there by sleight of hand, dully reading her name, her number, her location, and her rates. She had said the private sessions cost just a  _ bit _ more. By a  _ bit _ , she apparently meant about five times more. It was certainly more than anyone on a professor’s salary could afford, but he wasn’t just a professor. He was the Professor.

And fuck if he was going to pay that much for private yoga sessions. If he wanted to torture himself, he could find plenty of ways to do that for free if not with stuff laying around his house. Not unless it was really a front for escort business Gwen ran on the side of her side gig, and the Professor doubted that. She was trying to fleece him. She was no angel at all, and he decided then and there that he would make her rue the day that she slighted the Professor (nevermind the fact he was a complete background player in the criminal underworld). By the time he was through with her, she’d  _ wish _ he rammed her ass in front of the class with a little Downward Doggy.

“The gall,” the Professor began to rant under his breath, not even hearing the words he spoke as he took his phone out of his pants’ (side) pocket. He had paid a former associate several thousand dollars to go through the building the previous night and install several spy cameras for him. He opened up the one in the teacher’s changing room, clicking his tongue in disappointment when he realized he had missed her stripping down and showering-- but hadn’t it only been a minute? He frowned and stared at the screen, bemused. That was far too quick. 

His confusion was almost immediately rewarded when Gwen hopped back into view of the camera, struggling to get her skintight spider suit over the last stretch of her ass, wiggling and jiggling and grumbling to herself as she tugged and tugged at it. “God damn it,” she bitched, much to the Professor’s delight. He had confirmation  _ and _ proof already, and with that business card he already had a clear opportunity, a path forward. The Professor closed the app on his phone. Later, he’d have to sit down and watch the full recording; there was no way he was going to miss a preview of her perfect ass and perhaps see how her tits racked up to Mary Jane’s.

The last ten minutes had been a rollercoaster, but it had all worked out for the best. Now there was only one problem left, his persistent boner. He already had an idea as to how he was going to deal with it. It was just a question of  _ where _ . After a moment, he pulled out his phone and opened up the app for his cameras again, switching to a different one.  _ Perfect _ , he thought to himself, seeing just what he wanted. He checked the time; it was a quarter past twelve. The whole afternoon was ahead of him.

The Professor headed out of the classroom, though he paused at the door and glanced back over it. “Goodbye, hellhole,” he whispered to the dreadful place, sure that he would visit it soon enough in his nightmares. When he left, he slammed it hard enough that the clock fell off the wall. 

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

MJ groaned her displeasure at whomever the hell was pounding at her apartment’s front door so early in the morning and rolled over. She blindly grabbed at Peter’s pillow and pulled it over, holding it against her ear in the hope that muffling out the noise would somehow result in the monster who dared do such a thing going away. Out of ear, out of mind, never in sight. They didn’t stop, and clearly she couldn’t just  _ will _ them away. Peter must have already left for the day or else he would have gotten it by now. Begrudgingly, she opened her bleary eyes and looked to the nightstand. Her eyes opened a bit wider.  _ So early in the morning _ ? It was almost one in the afternoon.

She overslept. She snoozed right through her alarm. Awkward. And Peter was expecting his stupid GameStation 5 to show up today, too. It might be the delivery man at the door. “Fuck,” MJ mumbled, pushing the rumpled bedsheets off herselves and stumbling to her feet. The PedEx driver wouldn’t care if she got dressed, so she didn’t bother. The long, gray sleep t-shirt she wore was baggy enough that it obfuscated the shape of her tits. It’d probably show a hint of her hard nipples, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that in short order. They, and her constantly damp pussy, had become her regular bedfellows since the Professor became a part of MJ’s life. 

The shirt hid her panties and the obvious wet spot on them, too. The delivery man would get to see some leg and whatever, maybe he’d recognize her and have spank material for the rest of his week. Mary Jane winced slightly as she walked, her hips still sore from the rough and thorough fuck marathon she had with the Professor the previous night. She was glad for the extra hours of sleep; when she got home she was completely drained. They were well earned. She got to the door, removing the deadbolt and not bothering to peek out to see who it was because-- of course it was the PedEx driver. “Hold on,” she called out grumpily at him. He stopped pounding at the door.

_ Thank god, _ MJ thought to herself and cracked it open.

The Professor looked like an entirely different person in activewear and running sneakers, no sweater vest in sight. Mary Jane didn’t recognize him at first, staring blankly at the strange man before her who certainly wasn’t there to deliver her boyfriend’s GameStation. There was no mistaking who he was after he pushed the door open and casually stepped inside though, closing it behind him. “Hello, Mary,” he greeted her cordially, looking around the apartment as though he wasn’t already intimately aware of its layout and contents. “My goodness, you and Peter have a nice place here.”

MJ swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Her clothes were  _ perfectly _ fine for the delivery driver, but for the Professor? She might as well have been naked in the middle of a packed grocery store. Just the sight of him made her piussy just that bit wetter, just that bit hotter. If her nipples had gone rock hard before, they could now probably be used to cut diamonds now. Whether or not her heart and mind liked it, Mary Jane Watson’s body associated the Professor with sheer sexual satisfaction, her only viable source of it. Even hearing his voice over the phone would do this to her, putting her on immediate edge… not with anger or irritation, but the edge of maddening horniness. “What are you doing here?” she finally asked.

“I was in the neighborhood,” the Professor bullshitted, stepping past MJ and giving her a sharp clap across her cotton-covered bottom, jolting her and making her gasp. “Figured I’d come by and see how you were feeling. You know,” he told her with a dry smile, “hang out and chat a bit. Maybe have some coffee. Get something to eat.” Their eyes met. What the Professor intended was obvious. He wasn’t here for any of those things, and for all the lazy bullshit he spouted they both knew this would end with his cock  _ somewhere _ in her body. They both knew she wasn’t about to kick him out, and not just because of the blackmail on Peter he had hanging over her head. She was genuinely dependent on the Professor, addicted to both his ointments and his body.

But…

This was Mary Jane Watson’s one refuge, her one safe place in her new world. The only place she couldn’t bump into the Professor. This was where Spider-Man lived, and that knowledge, that  _ danger _ , should have kept her safe. She swallowed again, a dark flush of embarrassed arousal already starting to creep up her neck, coloring her fair skin a deep red. “Y-you know Peter might…”

The Professor lifted his eyebrows, inviting himself to one of the armchairs in their small living room, all masculine black leather and clearly well-loved over the years. It occurred to MJ that he probably thought he was sitting in  _ Peter’s _ chair. In fact, the way he smirked at her and wiggled his ass into the well-worn seat made that crystal clear. She briefly bit down on her bottom lip, strangling the giggle that threatened to spill from her throat. That was  _ her _ seat. Peter always claimed the couch. Then… then she realized her chair was going to smell like the Professor. She closed her eyes, conflicted.

“Peter has classes today,” the Professor pointed out. For a second, MJ felt stupid -- but then she had just woken up, and last night had really taken its toil on her. She brushed it off and opened her eyes, releasing her lip and almost pouting a frown at the Professor. Something was off about the Professor being here. Her eyebrows pinched together and she squirmed a bit on her bare heels, working it over in her sleep-addled mind until a proverbial lightbulb went off.

_ Oh. _

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching?” Mary Jane finally asked, shifting her weight.

“Took the day off,” the Professor replied nonchalantly, kicking off his sneakers and leaning over the arm chair’s side to grab the TV’s remote. “Actually, they’re doing a project today. Peter won’t be back for a while. It’s a shame, I would have liked to say hello to him.” He turned it on and started flicking through the channels aimlessly. He glanced over at MJ and lifted his brows as though surprised she was still there in her own home, when  _ he _ was the one who shouldn’t have been there. “What are you waiting for?”

“W-what?” she asked, flatfooted and uncomfortable.

“You just woke up, didn’t you?” the Professor asked, as though he hadn’t seen her asleep in her bed through one of his many cameras now littered throughout the apartment. “Go do… I don’t know, whatever you do in the morning,” he added, making a dismissive gesture at her. “And bring me some coffee.”

“O-oh. Yeah,” Mary Jane murmured, taking another second to turn around and start moving towards the bathroom. She felt a bit numb. Was this all really happening? The Professor in her sole sanctuary?

“Wear the stockings that match your hair. Nothing else,” he called over his shoulder at her backside. 

She paused, closed her eyes and pinched herself. When she opened her eyes again, she was still in her living room, still facing the entrance to the lone tiled room in the apartment. Drawing in a breath, she continued forward and closed the door behind herself. Her morning routine began and ended in the same blur, applying the creams and ointments that the Professor gave her each week after she was dry from the shower. When she left the bathroom wrapped in a towel, she half-expected the Professor to be gone.

But no, he was still there. He had found Wisney Plus and was now watching  _ the Pandalorian _ , a space Western featuring a lone bounty hunter on the fringes of the known galaxy. For a few moments, MJ hovered in the bathroom’s entrance, watching the back of his head and the TV at once. It was such a ridiculous concept; the titular Pandalorian was the member of a race of mercenary anthropomorphic warrior pandas. It would make more sense as a Kung Fu series. The rest of the world disagreed with MJ; it was doing phenomenally well. Though it hadn’t been announced, she was slated to guest star in the last two episodes of the current season.

She hovered for another moment, then made her way to the bedroom. That was a much shorter detour on her journey towards another ride on the Professor’s cock, something she was beginning to eagerly anticipate. She was dimly aware of her mouth beginning to water at the mere possibility of tasting his cock on her tongue, or his cum, or even his balls. She wasn’t wearing much when she went in, and she was wearing less when she left; the red thigh-high stockings she wore ran up to her thighs, only a few shades darker than the hair on her head. It matched the hair guarding her womanhood, too; though she normally kept it bald as can be, the Professor had her growing out a trim little patch. Peter was equally smitten with it. 

She hit the kitchen next. She got her master’s coffee ready -- when did she start thinking of him as her master? -- and then returned to him, setting it down on the small table beside the armchair. The Professor stirred out of his TV-induced reverie and smiled his thanks at her, casual as can be. “Thank you, my dear,” he said, though he didn’t reach for the mug just yet. Instead he reached out for her hips and drew MJ a step forward, as though about to drag her down to his lap. Her eyes fell down there, her breath catching at the sight of the Professor’s hard cock already freed from its cotton confines, stiff and neglected and in dire need of  _ her _ .

“Put your feet shoulder width apart and lace your fingers behind your head,” the Professor ordered her, and though she was vaguely disappointed he didn’t just pull her down and put his dick straight into her pussy, she hastily obeyed. With her perfect posture, the pose left her fully exposed, open to anything the Professor wanted to do to  _ her _ , his spider slut. He reached between her thighs and slipped two of his fingers into her cunt, making her shiver and reflexively clench around the digits, wishing they were something thicker and harder. “Did you sleep well last night?” the Professor casually prompted her.

MJ swallowed again, not from nerves or discomfort but almost impossibly distracted by the fingers spreading her tiny wet hole. “Yes,” she panted out after a prolonged pause, “so well.” It took her several seconds to realize he was staring at her, waiting for him to say something else. She figured it out quickly. “Y-yes,” she repeated as he probed her g-spot, making her steady knees waver beneath her. “Thanks to you. I-- oh, thank you,” she moaned out, a noise that became a groan of disappointment as his fingers left her sodden cunt.

“Good. Bend forward,” the Professor commanded her, and she did so. He grabbed her jaw with his slick fingers and pulled her closer to him. She instinctively knew what he was about to do to her, but it still took her by surprise when he invaded her mouth with his tongue for the first time. The Professor had done everything Peter had ever done with MJ  _ except _ kiss her up until that point. Mary Jane knew she should have been disgusted, she knew she should have been repulsed, and she knew she should have felt violated. She stood in an awkward position, her blackmailer attacking her mouth without reserve.

Instead, she closed her eyes and returned his kiss, telling herself just to pretend it was Peter. It was a crock of shit; no kiss with Peter ever got her this revved up and ready to go. Even their hottest kiss failed to match up -- that time, well before MJ knew Peter was Spider-Man, when she was frenching a vigilante in a dark, wet alleyway, his mask rolled partway down his upside face. It wasn’t a long kiss, and the second it was over he had his slick fingers pressed against her full lips. Without opening her eyes, she took them into her mouth and cleaned them with a drag of her tongue, relishing her own taste.

They both stiffened when someone knocked at the door. After a few seconds, the Professor slipped his fingers out of her mouth and frowned over her shoulder, whispering. “Were you expecting someone?” he asked. Mary Jane took in a breath and shook her head. She couldn’t think of anything. Obviously, it wasn’t Peter. He would have just unlocked the front door, or crawled in the open bedroom window.

“No,” she mumbled, before remembering what day it was. “It’s probably a delivery from Yamazon,” she added. The Professor let out an ‘ah’, then lifted one hand and gave an absentminded wave towards the door. There was a malicious gleam in his eye, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to dwell on what it might mean. She swayed then straightened, lowering her hands from behind her head and heading over to the door. After peeking through the peephole, she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Can I grab a robe and--?” she began to ask, only to realize the Professor had gotten up and followed close behind her. He put his hands to her hips and pulled her back a few steps.

“I’ll handle it,” the Professor assured MJ, and she felt a faint tinge of gratitude. She had gotten comfortable in her stockings, and she certainly didn’t want to put something on just to take it right back off for when she got fucked. He reached over her shoulder with one hand, removing the deadbolt and unlocking the door.

“Hold on,” he called out to the delivery guy, and then put his hand between MJ’s shoulders. “Bend over,” he murmured to her. She obeyed, albeit with some confusion, bracing either of her hands on her knees. When she felt his cock rubbing against her clit, she gasped out and tightened her grip. He couldn’t possibly mean to…? The Professor’s hand left her back, and she could hear him digging around his pants for something. “Open wide.” She did so tentatively, with a soft ‘ahhh’.

Mary Jane blinked when he stuffed the ruined panties from the previous night in her mouth, already balled up like a makeshift gag. She bit down on it reflexively, just about squirming in place despite the fact she was still doing her best to hold her master’s desired position. Was she really going to let this happen? She couldn’t. This was crossing a line.

She was. Every single thing the Professor had done to Mary Jane Watson thus far crossed a line, and she didn’t herself as appalled at the thought of one more line as she should have been. Maybe that was just her cock-hungry mind thinking; if she could pull the Professor’s cock into her cunt just by flexing its muscles, he’d already be balls deep inside of her and she would already be cumming. He grabbed hold of her hair and pulled it back, making her crane her neck so that her debaucherous expression would be the first thing welcoming anyone who came in.

“Come in,” the Professor called, and MJ closed her eyes in anticipation of what she  _ knew _ was about to happen. What he should have done the moment he came in, without a moment’s pause for completely trivial shit like coffee or her putting on stockings. The door opened and the PedEx delivery man took his first step inside the room. Mary Jane groaned out as she felt the start of the Professor’s thrust, finally filling her tight little fuck tunnel with his eager cock.

“Yeah, I need you to sign-- oh, fuck.” MJ didn’t open her eyes for the delivery man, well aware of what a whorish sight she was. Bent over, her fingernails digging deep into her legs, her heavy tits swinging forward with the force of that first thrust. She bit down hard on the panties, yelping like a cat who just had their tail stepped on. The makeshift gag served as an effective silencer, just as it was clearly intended to be. 

MJ opened her eyes wide open for the Professor’s cock. Her cunt was left empty as he entered her virgin ass, crossing a line MJ had no interest in crossing before, taking a first that she had never even considered giving to her long-term boyfriend. She wanted to cry and cuss out at the discomfort and the pain of having her butt broken, the penetration completely unexpected. The gag stopped any of that. It gave her a moment to really absorb what just happened, and it gave her a moment to realize -- it  _ really _ didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. Her cunt’s juices were apparently an effective lube.

Of course that wasn’t actually the case; Mary Jane Watson had no idea that the Professor attended Gwen’s yoga class and was smitten with the idea of penetrating Ghost-Spider’s sweet little rosebud. She had no idea that he had decided to take out his frustrations on MJ’s ass instead. Nor did MJ know that he had prepared himself by lathering his cock with a few topical lotions that would drive her even more wild for cock, while numbing any pain she might feel and loosening her muscles  _ just _ a tad.

MJ squeezed her eyes back shut as the professor bottomed out in her ass, his balls slapping against her wet pussy and making her shiver in delight. His cock was filling her mind just as much as it was filling her ass in that moment. “Sorry,” the Professor said behind her, not sounding sorry at all. “You caught us at a bad time, though… you’re welcome to stay and have a bit of fun with us, if you want.” Already, he was pulling back and then slamming back into her. As she shuddered again, she tried to dip her chin down, but his hand in her hair kept her from managing even that. Her fingers digged tighter into her stockings, just as her toes curled.

Another hot jolt went through her body as his balls clapped her cunt again, and then another. With her eyes shut and her mind only partially in attendance, MJ forgot all about the delivery man as the Professor built up a steady pace, soon pounding her ass just how he liked to lay into her pussy. There wasn’t much for her to do than stand there and take the brunt of the Professor’s frustrations, enjoying the experience far more than should have when by any rights, his approach should have floored an anal virgin.

“Yeah,” the delivery man finally said. “Sure.” She could hear his boots thump-thump on the floor, stopping before her. She could  _ almost _ feel his belt hit the floor when he unbuckled it and dropped his trousers.

“I--” The Professor  _ almost _ missed a thrust, his rhythm briefly broken in his surprise. He hadn’t expected the delivery man to agree; he only wanted to spice up Mary Jane’s anal punishment with a little bit of humiliation. Then he let out a sharp laugh and got right back into the swing of things, “Go on and replace her gag, then. She loves a good cock.”

Mary Jane didn’t try to argue or stop the guy from pulling her ripped, cum-soiled panties out of her mouth. Instead, she opened her mouth wide and accepted his cock into her wet and warm mouth without so much as opening her eyes. In a way, she was glad for his presence and glad to have something else to do. The shaft between her lush lips wasn’t as long as either Peter’s or the Professor’s, but it was far thicker than either. She started to work her tongue around it, getting to know it intimately like she might have in her more promiscuous days. Instead, the dicksicle muffled her squeal when the delivery man grabbed her hair and thrust deep into her mouth, shoving his raw cock right into a stranger’s throat before she even said a word to him. “Damn,” he groaned, his sack slapping against her chin as he buried MJ’s nose in his short and curlies. “I needed this.”

“The more the merrier,” the Professor grunted on the other side of the impromptu spitroast. The delivery man fell naturally into her master’s rhythm without any need for coaching or a little time to figure out how he would fit in. As the delivery man pulled back from her throat, the Professor once more bottomed out in her ass, the weight of his nuts shooting another thrill through MJ’s body, and vice versa. Passive as she was in the arrangement, MJ could at least work her tongue around the delivery man’s dick in the scant seconds she had between each thrust.

Right then and there, MJ was in Nirvana. She was on Cloud Nine. She had found perfection. She didn’t have time to ponder the morality or ethics of enjoying any of this, or if she was  _ really _ enjoying her surprise anal at all. She was just happy to be there, to be used, to be her master’s little spidey slut, blithely shared with an effectively random passerby.

“So,” the delivery man asked after a rough grunt, curling his fingers deep into MJ’s hair. “What-- fuck, she’s damn good. What’s the first game that you’re gonna play?”

In MJ’s new, lust-hazed world, the only thing that marked the passage of time was the sensation of a pair of balls slapping her cunny or slapping her chin.  _ Slap, slap, slap. _ “Eh?” the Professor grunted back belatedly. “Play what?”

“Your GameStation, Mister Parker, you lucky fucking duck. I spent all day trying to order one,” the delivery man explained, sucking in a deep and audible breath through his nostrils. “Where does she like it?” he asked distractedly.

“Face,” the Professor responded automatically. The delivery man chortled, then broke rank entirely with the Professor, wildly fucking MJ’s face without abandon until he hauled her head off his length. As she gasped and heaved for breath, he grabbed his saliva slickened cock and took aim, spraying himself all over her lovely features without realizing the strange, slutty woman he had just gotten a fantastic throatfuck from was a movie star.

MJ gasped again as each successive rope of cum splashed on her, coating her cheeks and practically painting her eyelashes to them. She hadn’t even glanced at the man’s face, and now she wouldn’t have a chance to. But that didn’t bother Mary Jane Watson; a warmth spread through her body. It was a familiar feeling, but a distant one. It was the same satisfaction she got the first time she made a boy cum in her hand, pure exhilaration and earnest pride. It was a feeling she hadn’t had in a long time.

_ She _ did that (sort of) for her Professor. “Just, uh, leave the package inside, put her gag back in and--”

“Close the door behind myself. Yeah, don’t worry,” the delivery man said. Even with her eyes shut, MJ could tell he was grinning. She opened her mouth wide and accepted the panties again, biting into the rough ball they formed -- all the harder, when the Professor really started to lay into her ass. Not long after the door clicked shut, his final thrust almost knocked her off her feet entirely. She  _ just _ barely kept her balance… and then of course the Professor came deep in her ass. The warmth of that tipped her over her edge, making her cry out sharply through the gag and begin to sag, her trembling legs unable to hold her weight.

The Professor released her hair and let her sink down, her raised hips leaving her ass in the air as her arms pillowed her head. He leaned down and gave her a sharp crack across her ass. MJ gasped and then let out a muffled squeal as she came once more, experiencing a chained orgasm from a simple spank. More exhausted from the previous night’s fuckathon than she realized, MJ passed out at its end, all but slumping out on the floor, cum caking her face and filling her ass.

“... Must have gone overboard on the aphrodisiacs,” the Professor muttered to himself, getting his cock tucked away and covering everything up again. The  _ responsible _ thing to do here would probably involve cleaning MJ up and tucking her into bed, but he felt certain she would be up before Peter got home. He wouldn’t even be out of his classes until six PM that day, and it wasn’t that far past two now.

The Professor glanced around the apartment as though  _ someone _ might be watching, then stepped over and grabbed the package containing Peter Parker’s GameStation. He glanced around again, as though the coast might be  _ anything _ but clear. Then, casual as can be, he opened the door and stepped out with the new console, leaving a cum-painted and cum-stuffed MJ unconscious on the floor with the Pandalorian still playing on the TV.

When he got home, the first game he played was  _ Batman: Dick Grayson _ . 


	4. Gwen Stacy 1

The Professor did not consider himself susceptible to embarrassment. Sure, he might grow flustered or annoyed every now and then, but really -- who didn’t? Everyone had something that would get under their skin, just the same as everyone had a price. Well, everyone but good-for-nothing good-doers, the would-be superheroes of the world, anti-heroes with loose ‘morals’ and supervillains with some ridiculous creed who couldn’t admit they liked to be bad. 

He had looked up the definition of embarrassment earlier that morning while thinking through his plan, telling himself over and over again it was  _ not _ embarrassment driving him. Webster defined it as self-consciousness, as shame, as humiliation. He felt entirely resolute that none of those words applied to him, nor had some vestige of them factored into his decision making. 

No, the man who now went by the name Professor Reid Uris was making a calculated decision after taking into consideration all the variables that lay before him. He told himself he wasn’t even being the slightest bit vengeful, and he told himself that over and over again until he felt absolutely sure of it. The Professor was effectively a member of New York City’s supervillain community -- a background member, to be sure, but a member nonetheless. He needed to do something villainous. He needed to start building his legacy.

Ghost-Spider’s secret identity had practically fallen in his lap, and with it, Gwen Stacy’s business card, much like how Peter Parker’s secret life as Spider-Man presented itself to him on a golden platter. She would be his first real target; Mary Jane Watson hardly counted in that regard. The feisty redheaded actress wasn’t a hero, just the girlfriend of one. With each passing week, she became more and more his bitch. By the end of today, Gwen Stacy would be put on a similar path.

The Professor wasn’t doing this to punish the twenty-something year old blonde bombshell for being a complete cocktease. He wasn’t doing it because she  _ dared _ insinuate that he would balk at something so paltry as being the sole man attending a yoga class. He certainly wasn’t doing it because he couldn’t get Gwen Stacy’s phenomenal ass out of his head, as much as he tried.

Even fucking Mary Jane’s ass every day for a week straight couldn’t put an end to his fixation on the thick curve of her ass, or the memory of how it strained against her yoga pants. Or the way her Ghost-Spider costume hugged it, for that matter. No, this was absolutely just a necessary step for building his legacy. The pink apron he wore and the handkerchief tied around his head to keep his hair back were necessary, too, right along with the bright yellow rubber gloves that covered his hands from the tips of his fingers to his elbows. 

Deep cleaning his apartment? Also necessary, but  _ fuck _ if his back wasn’t aching from the hour he just spent on his knees, scrubbing old stains out of the kitchen’s tile floor. He needed everything to be sparkling; he needed his personal space to transform from a scientific bachelor pad to the very model of a perfect room.

Later that evening, Gwen Stacy would be showing up at his apartment to give him a one-on-one yoga lesson. During that lesson, he would get his revenge-- no, no. Launch his legacy. Very different. 

Nothing about this was petty.

It would have been easier for him to just hire a maid, but there were too many things laying around (if not hidden about) his apartment for him to risk a stranger stumbling across something or another. He shivered at the thought of some maid-for-hire finding his stash of MJ’s ointments and stealing one. 

That could be a nightmare, and not just because they might go to the hospital after experiencing its side effects and get the police involved. He shuddered again at the thought of some fifty or sixty year old woman trying to make a quick buck getting addicted to the ointment and coming back for more. 

For one, he’d feel pretty shitty about that. He was a member of the supervillain community, not a  _ complete monster _ without conscience. Two, he wasn’t about to fuck such a woman when he had a famous actress on speed dial for a booty call. Maybe he’d have to look into finding Mary Jane’s maid-equivalent and get  _ that _ woman equally addicted to his pharmaceuticals and his cock.

He paused. Or… 

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

… Or he could just call his favorite redheaded bitch over and make her into his maid. “You look fantastic, Miss Watson. Thank you for making the time to come so promptly,” he told her with a smile, his genuine compliment somewhat undercut by the fact he was fingering her pussy at the same time. MJ’s eyelashes fluttered with each twitch of his fingers, her lips a hair apart, each of her individual breaths coming and going faster than the last.

When he called her, he asked her to stop by the Halloween store first and pick up the sluttiest french maid costume that she could find. It supposedly took her nearly an hour to find one that was open this time of year, and she seemed to have taken his instructions very literally. He sincerely doubted that it came from an actual Halloween store. Slutty costumes tended to be, at the very least, workplace appropriate for the inevitable office party. 

What MJ wore far exceeded  _ slutty _ and couldn’t have possibly been designed with trick-or-treating in mind. It was clearly a fetish costume, the top half of the black and white dress was more corset than bodice, tightly laced across her stomach with demi-cups for her breasts that were clearly too small for her proud tits. The top halves of her areolae were on blase display. A single hasty movement would quickly let her tight, peaked nipples slip out of their constraints. 

The skirt only just barely managed to cover her ass and pussy; she hadn’t been wearing panties when she came in, only spared indecency by the trench coat she wrapped around herself. That was long since discarded on the floor, near the entrance. Her long legs sheathed in sheer black stockings, the lacy designs at the top of either hugging tightly around her thighs, with her garters rising beneath her teeny skirt.

The Professor suspected her only personal touch on the outfit were her heels; there was no way MJ picked up a pair of Baboutins in a Halloween store  _ or _ a sex shop. A ruffled, white and black lace hairpiece completed her ensemble. 

He had only wanted her in a maid costume because it would be fitting and she would make for fetching eye candy, but this was too much for him to just ignore. The last thing he needed was an enormous boner spoiling his plans for Gwen Stacy.

“T-thank you,” the redhead whispered breathlessly, her hands gripping the kitchen counter behind herself, her feet planted wide to give the Professor free access to the wet paradise between her thighs, its outer lips swollen and flushed from the moment she entered his presence, like always, predictable as clockwork. MJ squeezed her eyes shut and bit down cruelly on her bottom lip, her head tipping back. The Professor smiled wryly to himself, watching as her breathing turned to panting and then outright moaning. 

Right when she was moments from cumming, he slid his fingers out of MJ’s slick cunt, careless of her desperate groan and the way her eyes flashed open, glassy and pleading for him to just  _ let her cum _ . He had every intention of letting her get off, but not the way she thought she would. 

The Professor had a little hypothesis he wanted to test, and this was his golden opportunity. He leaned in close to the slutty redhead and once again kissed her, claiming her mouth and exploring it with an intensity her husband could never mimic, his teeth nipping down on the swell of her bottom lip before invading her sanctuary with his tongue. MJ closed her eyes immediately and returned the kiss submissively after a moment’s pause, seeming to forget how close to cumming she had just been. The powerful kiss lasted for only a short time before he pulled back and whispered in her ear. “On your knees. Grab your wrists behind your back.”

She opened her eyes and sucked in a trembling breath, nodding her head and sinking down to her knees without any of the grace she showed on the silver screen, grabbing her wrists with either opposite hand, as though binding herself for him. MJ gazed up at him through the shadowy veil of her thick lashes, her eyes beyond them no less glassy for their kiss. She was right where he wanted her to be, right on the very precipice of an orgasm. The famous actress drew in a sharp breath as he drew out his stiff cock and parted her lips wider on instinct, fully expecting him to fuck her face.

Maybe he would later. She didn’t know that he had been refining his formulae and had coated his fingers in something that would drive her sensitivity and libido to new heights right before he began to go spelunking in her wet fuckhole. If it worked, it would make her entire body into an erogenous zone, ripe for whatever use he wanted to put it to. The Professor considered her for a moment, then reached down and wound his fingers into her thick red hair, securing himself a firm grip that would keep her face level and her head from moving  _ too _ much.

She was used to the Professor pulling her hair or using it like a leash if not a pair of reins. Hell, Mary Jane was used to him cockslapping her too. When he took hold of himself with his free hand and took aim, she didn’t flinch away. She only braced herself for impact. It came a moment later, making her gasp out as the force of it hitting across her cheek jerked her face to one side. That one gasp didn’t end quickly. It dragged out, growing almost shrill until MJ was squealing out in surprise and pleasure, her body betraying her in an instant. Obedient bitch that she was, she had lowered to her knees on the Professor’s command, but now her quivering legs were spilling out beneath her.

The mixture of confusion and orgasm left her stupefied, scarcely able to understand how hard she was cumming, or even why. It didn’t end as her lungs ran out of air, unable to squeal any longer. Her breathing became desperate panting, great whooshes of air coming and going from her chest, her shoulders shuddering with each inhale and exhale. The Professor smiled cruelly to himself, entirely too pleased with himself. The new formulae was working exactly as he hoped it would.

But he needed to push the envelope. He needed to see how far it could go. The Professor gave MJ’s hair a sharp yank, eliciting an immediate reaction in the form of her seeming to cum again on the spot. Her long nails dug in so deep against her arms that she drew small, bloody scratches along them. The next time she sucked in a lungful of air, she got something a little extra on top of the O2 her body so desperately needed, an extra large order of the Professor’s cock driving right into her mouth and into her waiting throat. Though she was (to put it kindly) entirely caught off guard, she quickly sealed her lips around him, instinctively doing what she had been trained to do.

Almost immediately, her lips were pressing right against his pelvis, kissing around the very base of his cock. Her lipstick left a red ring around it, quickly smudged. In any other circumstances, the Professor would probably lower his other hand to her head and start ramming her face until he got off, but today was different. He gave a futile thrust, already balls deep into her throat, the literal proof of that resting on MJ’s feminine chin. Almost immediately, her throat tightened and practically convulsed around his dick, her scream muffled by the immense airway obstruction lodged in her throat.

He heard something wet splash against the floor several times in rapid succession and couldn’t help but laugh with maniacal glee -- the only kind of glee afforded to supervillains, like himself. After Gwen, he would absolutely qualify. The Professor knew for a fact that MJ wasn’t a squirter, but he just made her squirt with cock-slapping and throat-fucking. The new formulae more than exceeded his expectations. It only remained to be seen how it would affect a bitch with superpowers, not just a super bod. 

The Professor laughed and laughed, thrilled with himself, until his body put an abrupt end to his glee. “Fuck,” he hissed out, unaware of how close he had been getting to cumming himself until that very moment. Quickly, he pulled out of MJ’s throat and grabbed his cock, taking a truly haphazard aim in the few seconds he had before it was too late. He loved the look of MJ’s face plastered with his cum. It had become his go-to, and where he would cum now -- but he didn’t exactly have time to think it through. 

The only thing keeping MJ’s head straight at that point was the Professor’s cock, practically pinning it back against the cupboard beneath his kitchen’s counter. Without it, MJ’s nigh boneless body began to list forward, her chin being the first thing to dip down. Barely a drop of his cum landed on her face. Most of the jizzy spray landed in her hair, giving her unwanted white highlights free of charge. The rest splashed lower, on the ample cleavage her costume provided and on the costume itself; the very few last ropes hit her shoes and the floor itself.

The Professor took a step back and blinked down at her, then cleared his throat awkwardly. Not that he had anything to feel awkward about. She was his bitch, after all. He just didn’t want to let her take a shower in his apartment and end up leaving his drain full of --

**THUMP, THUMP.**

**THUMP THUMP THUMP.**

Odd. Someone was banging on his door. The Professor exhaled and quickly stuffed his cock away, reaching for his phone. Perhaps one of his Yamazon parcels had arrived? Pulling up their app, he didn’t see anything. He had a camera installed right above his door. “Hold on,” he yelled out as whomever it was began knocking again. He ignored MJ as she spilled out completely on the floor, face down and groaning, still shuddering from the aftershocks of her multiple orgasms.

“Well, fuck,” The Professor muttered as he brought up the camera feed. There Gwen Stacy was, her open coat revealing her pink and white sports bra and yoga pants, a duffel bag with her gear tucked under one arm. “She’s not supposed to be here for another… oh, fuck.” He had completely lost track of the time. After he called MJ, he did a little more tidying up, then began playing  _ Dick Grayson _ on poor Peter’s stolen GameStation while he waited for her. The Professor expected MJ to be ten or twenty minutes, but she took long enough that she had inadvertently thrown his meticulous plan into disarray.

It wasn’t his fault for telling her to go shopping at a Halloween shop in December, not at all.

The Professor glanced down at MJ, wetting his lips. He wasn’t sure how conscious she was, but he did know that he didn’t have time to truss her up and hide her somewhere. Though he  _ could _ just close her in the kitchen, he needed to make sure she stayed busy just in case she was too stupefied to follow simple instructions. Crouching, he grabbed MJ’s hair and dragged her face over to the wet spot marked by her squirt and his cum. “Be a good girl, stay in here and lick this up,” he ordered her, hoping her little groan was acceptance of the familiar task. That done, he rose to his feet and hurried out of the kitchen, closing its door behind him. He could only hope he had cleaned his apartment enough for Gwen.

The last thing he wanted her to think was that the Professor was sloppy. That would be downright embarrassing. He had to adapt his plan to these new circumstances. There wasn’t time to properly spike a snack or drink, let alone lace a surface Gwen would use. Instead of the new formulae, he would have to use something older.

Barely conscious, MJ opened her mouth and began to slowly lap at the mess she had been ordered to clean up.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Gwen was just taking out her phone to check the time when the door finally cracked open and Reid poked his head out, his nervous expression fading and giving way to a (still pretty nervous) smile at the sight of her. The blonde babe returned it easily with a bright grin of her own. She was used to it. Middle-aged man getting a private yoga lesson at home from a sexy little thing like herself? It wasn’t a great look to the neighbors, and anyone with a wife or girlfriend was risking significant drama, and that was saying nothing about lonely guys finding themselves in a sexually-charged situation, watching a limber woman stretch and show off.

“Sorry, I was, uh--” Reid cleared his throat, grasping for the right words.

Reid Uris was Gwen’s favorite kind of man. The only kind of man she’d offer a private lesson to. The older kind, with deep pockets, fully capable of paying her exorbitant rates and giving her a generous tip on top of them. For the next few hours, she would give him her utmost focus. In return, Gwen would get to drink in his attention, knowing how hard his cock would be all throughout their session. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Gwen assured him, still smiling. If he had taken any longer, she would have headed home, but five minutes wasn’t a bad wait compared to what she stood to gain.

Making her clients horny always got her hot and bothered. She never fucked her clients, but sometimes she would go out of her way to brush up against them, pressing her delicious ass into their cock or letting her hand stray just to get an idea of exactly what she was doing to them. That always earned her a far more handsome tip. Gwen didn’t see it as teasing, and she felt pretty sure everyone she ever taught in private understood exactly what was going on. 

Whether or not they were really interested in the lesson that they paid for, they were really getting an  _ experience _ and a memory they could jerk off to for the rest of her life.

“Right,” Reid muttered, clearing his throat again. He removed his deadbolt, fumbled with a chain or two, then opened the door wide and waved Gwen into his living room. She breezed past him, glancing down and to the side as she went. The blonde couldn’t help but pop her eyebrows up a bit. Either Reid was stuffing his underwear to impress her, or he was already packing some  _ serious _ wood. Either explanation would more than explain his nerves.

Gwen didn’t stare, though, letting her eyes move on. She had told Reid to clear out a place for them to roll out their mats side by side. Much to her pleasure, he had already shoved the furniture around. Too often, she’d have to do that herself. Nothing else really stuck out to her besides his GameStation 5 -- she was immediately jealous that he had managed to snag one. At least, nothing stuck out to her eyes. She could smell a gentle, soothing incense in the air, though she couldn’t tell where it was burning. It was a nice touch. “Well,” Gwen said cheerfully as she sashayed forward, letting her hips do  _ plenty _ of talking on the way, “let’s get-- oh, uh.” 

She paused just as she felt something rug-like beneath her sneaker, a stark change from the apartment’s handsome wooden panelling. A woman’s trench coat. Weird. Something about it seemed familiar. Maybe she knew someone who had a coat just like it. Slowly, she took her foot off the coat and took a step back. Shaking her head, she glanced around the room and then back over at her client, who went a bit white in the face.

Reid absolutely struck her as a bachelor. As far as Gwen could tell, he lived alone. His were the only shoes by the door, and the color room’s furniture was half-outdated, half-clashing; there was no evidence of a woman’s touch. And a sweet, older guy like him really didn’t strike her as the type to have a booty call, so… unless he was crossdressing, there was only one answer to why the coat was there. Gwen quickly looked away from Reid, her hand lifting to her mouth to stifle her giggles and hide the grin she couldn’t keep off her lips. For the coat to still be laying there, the hooker he hired must have left in a hurry. That, or she was still hiding somewhere in the apartment.

Her shoulders shook with silent mirth for several seconds before she managed to get everything under control. Swallowing down her laughter and clearing her throat, she turned towards Reid again, just as he rose from crouching and collecting the coat. Gwen gave him another smile, with a knowing look in her eye and an easy crook to her lips. “Hey,” she told him, “it’s okay. I get it. I don’t judge. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.”

“You--” Reid paused and gaped at Gwen, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. “You… you, uh, you get it?” he finally stammered out, going even a shade whiter in his shock and confusion. He stood ramrod still for several seconds, before awkwardly stepping over to his dining room table and draping the coat over the back of a wooden chair. Gwen took a moment to remove her own coat, holding it out until Reid took the cue, moving like a robot as he grabbed it and draped it over another chair.

“Yeah,” Gwen then continued, taking a step away and putting her bag down. She squatted down by it and unzipped it, taking out her rolled-up yoga mat and spreading it out near Reid’s, far closer than it needed to be; she had worked out how to maximize her tips from his type to an exact science. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know? I’ve got plenty of friends who do that kind of thing,” she admitted candidly. In a way, she kind of did that thing too, albeit never to the point of actual prostitution.

“You’ve got--” Reid stared at Gwen, opening his mouth and then closing it, silent. For a moment, he seemed scandalized by her admission, then impressed, then extremely confused all over again. “You’ve got friends who do that kind of thing,” he repeated slowly, skeptically, taking a step over to join Gwen at the mats before pausing, as though she might bite him.

“Hey,” Gwen told him, giving him a brief but sunny grin, sure she could reassure him. “That’s what I said. College is  _ expensive _ , man, and if a girl has to do turns on the pole or turn tricks to get her way through without burying herself in debt? I’m not going to blame her, or anyone who helps her out.” She shifted from her squatted position to an easy kneel on her own mat, patting Reid’s to invite him over. “Just be safe about it. If you’re-- new to that kind of thing, I can link you up to a few girls. They won’t scam you or have a pimp breathing down your neck, I promise.” 

And her friends would  _ definitely _ get a good tip from Reid, she could tell, both in literal and figurative fashion. Gwen couldn’t help but glance at his tented cock again. In her experience, most men got turned off when they were embarrassed and about to have a panic attack, but Reid was clearly just as hard as he was when she arrived, if not harder. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, unable to keep herself from wondering what that ‘tip’ would feel like. How long had it been since she had a huge cock like that to play with?

Reid blinked a few times at her, then laughed in clear relief, breaking her out of her fantasizing before it could really even begin. She glanced up and smiled at him again distractedly, glad her candid admissions had broken him out of his proverbial shell. “That’s-- that’s very kind, Gwen, thank you. I’ll keep it in mind,” he said as he stepped closer. She couldn’t keep her eyes from dipping back down to the bulge in his pants as it came closer and closer. “I’m quite happy with the one I’ve been seeing, but I’ll let you know if things change,” he promised, getting down on his knees beside on his own mat.

There was nothing unusual about Reid’s tone and he wasn’t exactly her type, but the combination of his nearness and his voice made her acutely aware of how horny she had gotten. The thong she wore under her yoga pants had grown almost uncomfortably wet. She closed her eyes and tried to suppress the little shudder that went up her spine, willing herself to focus. Gwen  _ did _ tend to get turned on during these ‘private lessons’, but that usually stemmed from her teasing and knowing how hard her clients got. 

“Gwen? Are you alright?” Reid asked, polite but oddly jubilant. She was too distracted to pick up on that, though. She was too distracted to even pick up on the oddity of the incense again, unaware of how it's gentle, soothing aroma was anything but; it was the true reason behind her sheer horniness and his hard cock, a potent aphrodisiac that incidentally dulled her spidey sense.

This was the first time she had gotten so worked up without even touching them.  _ God, I’m acting super weird. _ Slowly, she drew a breath and then opened her blue eyes. When they opened again, they landed once more on Reid’s crotch before moving up to his face. He smiled at her knowingly, his amusement plain on his face, and she knew right away that he had caught her. Her fair-skinned cheeks flushed bright red on the spot. “U-uh, sorry,” she began to stammer.

“Don’t be,” Reid replied gently, turning towards her and reaching out towards her, his fingers cupping under her jaw, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone tenderly. Gwen knew right away that she should put a stop to it, that she should shove his hand away and set some firm boundaries… but she didn’t really want to. “It’s after getting pretty warm in here, isn’t it?”

The effect that the incense was having on her only got stronger and stronger. 

“Y-yeah,” Gwen whispered, her hands falling to her thighs, slowly running down them through the tight lycra that covered her perfect legs. Dimly, she found herself glad he said something so simple she could practically just smile and nod at it. “It has.” It really hadn’t, but the sheer heat she felt in her pussy was beginning to spread throughout her body. 

“Maybe,” Reid continued after a brief pause, continuing to speak gently. “We should do something about that. Dress down a bit. Yoga gets pretty sweaty, doesn’t it?” His fingers moved on her jaw, his thumb sliding along until it was tracing the shape of her bowed lips. Then his digits slid down, running down over her delicate throat and over her clavicle. “And I don’t think either one of us has anything to be shy about,” he added. Gwen’s heart began to thump hard in her chest as his hand went lower. She  _ really _ should have set up some firm boundaries right then and there, but no, she saw what he was doing, seducing her, and she wanted it. 

Gwen wanted to know exactly how big his cock was and what it would feel like inside her.  _ Fuck it _ , she decided, reaching up to grab his wrist just before his hand found the perfect position to grope her tit through her sports bra. He blinked in surprise, and Gwen found herself smiling a slim smile, her sheer horniness conveyed in the curve of her lips. Reid probably expected her to be shy, giving herself over to his whims easily. He probably expected her to act the part of a prim little princess.

There was no way he could know that Gwen fucked like a tiger. She decided right then and there she was going to blow this middle-aged man’s mind.

“Yeah,” she murmured as she pulled his hand down and placed it on her thigh. “You’re right. We don’t.” Slowly, she dragged his digits along until they were on a clear path to her pussy. As he took the hint and began massaging her cunt through her yoga pants, she reached to her sides and pulled her sports bra up. Her full tits resisted for a moment, refusing to leave the secure support. She didn’t rush them, giving Reid ample time to appreciate the underboob show before yanking it for a full-on titty drop, dropping the garment aside.

“Fuck,” Reid muttered as his fingers rubbed through the layers covering her cunt, the blunted stimulation only serving to stoke her needy cunt all the higher. “Those are beautiful.” It didn’t seem like he was ever going to take his eyes off her perky breasts, almost seeming far fuller naked than when her bra was hugging them tight. Gwen smiled proudly and let him enjoy the sight, her already tight nipples growing stiffer by the second. 

She wasn’t going to  _ wait _ for him to get over it, though. Without giving Reid much warning, she reached out and gave him a push until he flattened out on the mat with a soft grunt of surprise. “What’re you--” he began to hiss out, with far more outrage than she would have expected. He  _ really _ expected her to be a little princess, didn’t he? Well, he wasn’t going to have his way with her. It was going to be the other way around.

“I showed you mine,” Gwen purred as she got to her hands and knees, crawling closer to him and reaching to the waist of his pants. “So-- it’s time you showed me yours, don’t you think?” she asked him, trailing the words with a husky giggle. A normal woman probably wouldn’t have such an easy time pushing him back down when he tried to jerk up, nor would they have the agility or dexterity to go right back to yanking his pants down afterwards, but Gwen wasn’t normal. He grunted, blew out a breath, then huffed out an irritated sigh that just made her smirk.

In any other circumstances, she’d probably be a lot more careful about keeping her powers on the downlow, but she  _ needed _ his cock sooner than later. By the time she made him cum, Gwen’s ridiculous strength for her size and frame would be the last thing on his mind. His dick bounced up the moment his pants cleared them. She committed the ultimate sin in that moment, laughing at a man’s cock the second she saw it -- but for the best possible reason. “Fuck,” she breathed out in wonder right away, “you’re  _ huge _ .” He easily had two, maybe three inches over the biggest guy she ever took, with proportionate girth. 

Bending low, letting her ass stick up and sway with more subconscious excitement, she grabbed his base and patted his cock’s crown against her cheek, grinning like the carefree slut she had become. “Have you got a concealed carry permit for this thing, Reid?” she asked, giving it a slow stroke and giggling huskily again, feeling like someone just let her loose in a candy store. There was something else tickling her funny bone. His cock was slightly damp. Gwen might have arrived right after his escort finished up. 

“Don’t call me that,” Reid whispered. Gwen continued playing with his cock, her smirk slimming back down to a smile. She turned her head slightly and ran the flat of her tongue along the underside of his crown, moaning in exaggerated enjoyment of his taste before lowering her head to do it all over again, but starting from the base of his cock instead. Something she saw there made her pause -- and then giggle all over again. She was dead on the money; he had a smudged red ring down around his cock there. Whatever bitch was sucking his cock before gave him one sloppy deepthroat, or… maybe he fucked her face.

Well, he wasn’t going to remember her by the time Gwen was done with him, either. “Fine,” Gwen hummed out breezily, kissing the crown of his cock before dipping her face back down, taking one of his balls into her mouth, sucking gently on it while she jerked him off. Unlike his cock, they were dry. Maybe the other woman was too prissy to give Reid’s nuts the time of day, but they just so happened to be Gwen’s favorite part of any cock. She swapped to the other one and hummed more literally around it, closing her eyes in satisfaction at the gritted-teeth groan it drew out of Reid.

Slowly, she popped him out of her mouth and looked up at him through half-lidded blue eyes, slowly licking her lips. “What do you want me to call you instead, big boy?” Gwen murmured, so soft that the words might have even been lost over the sound of her hand getting him off. “Stepdaddy?” she asked, ready to laugh again if he said yes -- but fuck if she wasn’t going to do it for a cock like this. 

“Call me… the Professor,” Reid growled, with such an intensity that she  _ did _ laugh again. She should have recognized the anger that flashed in his eyes when she did, but she was too busy kissing his cock again. Sucking him off was  _ so _ tempting, but she wanted to get him inside her sooner than later.

“Whatever you say, Prof,” Gwen whispered with a blade of a smile, kissing his dick’s head one more time to say goodbye, before withdrawing from her position and shifting more fully to her knees. The way she wriggled around spoke to her incredible flexibility and grace, somehow managing to get her yoga pants off without ever having more than one knee off their yoga mats at a time. Her thong went with them. Left in just her socks and sneakers, she crawled forward until she was straddling his cock, able to gaze down at him. She drank in how he was clearly fixated on her. She really,  _ really _ should have realized he was glaring at her, not staring lustily.

“The Professor,” he insisted, even as she reached between her thighs to grab his cock and position it right at her sopping wet entrance, even as her eyelashes fluttered and she bit back a moan at first contact.

“The Professor, got it,” she mumbled blithely, closing her eyes. Reid, the Prof, whatever he wanted to call her… he was practically a stranger, one who had just fucked an escort. It occurred to her that she should probably get a condom, but --  _ I need this huge thing inside me _ .  _ I’m on the pill. It’ll be fine. _ Throwing caution to the wind, she impaled herself fully on his cock in one smooth descent, groaning out in feminine satisfaction, a noise Reid --  _ the Professor _ , whatever -- matched far more deeply. 

“Fuck,” she growled out, reaching down to grab the hem of his shirt and pull it up. He wasn’t nearly as muscular as most of the men she slept with, but that was fine by her. His cock more than made up the difference. She planted her hands on his chest as she began to rock and roll her hips with a dancer’s sinuous grace, feeling all the different ways he fit against her cunt’s walls until she found  _ the one _ that would get her there, the one that had him hitting her g-spot while he stretched her sweet little pussy out.

That’s the one she stuck with, every movement from there on out focused on building towards her rapidly encroaching orgasm, her toes curling and her fingers beginning to rake pink trails across his chest with her manicured fingers. His hands went to her smooth, taut thighs, and as nice as his squeezing fingers felt there, it wasn’t what she wanted. “Grab my tits,” she ordered him, increasingly breathless, her grunts and groans transitioning to increasingly feverish moans.

He didn’t do as he was told, at least not right away. “Professor, please,” he prompted her, digging his fingers in all the more deeply against her thighs. She was getting  _ so close _ now, just needing that extra little bit of stimulation. She didn’t play hard to get.

“Professor,” Gwen gasped out, “please, grab my tits.” He rewarded her right away, mauling her breasts like a bear looking to get its claws on some sweet honey, his fingers sinking into their fatty flesh with reckless abandon. It put a quick end to her moans, quickly stifled by just how hard she bit her bottom lip. Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on repeating that one motion of her hips, over and over again as she got closer and closer.

Her orgasms always felt so sudden, so abrupt, even when they weren’t. She released the swell of her bottom lips from its capture and tipped her head back, crying out long and lewd as her body tensed up and released all that pressure in the space of a second. The way her pleasure burned through her body was white-hot, wiping her thoughts clean, practically turning her bones to jelly in her powerful relaxation.

“HEY, SHUT THE FUCK UP,” screamed one of the next door neighbors, but it wasn’t even a blip on Gwen’s radar. She screamed her pleasure until there simply wasn’t any breath in her lungs left to scream with, her back arched and her head tipped back. At least for a moment, she held steady, her cunt’s muscles spasming around the Professor’s girthy cock. And then reality caught up with her, and she began to flag backwards.

_ Oh, fuck,  _ Gwen groaned out in her mind, panting too much to tell the Professor just how good his cock was. She was dimly aware he hadn’t cummed in her, and just as dimly disappointed. It was hard to be negative while basking in the kind of afterglow she was having. Her back hit the other yoga mat, the Professor’s still stiff cock slipping away from the pleading grip of her cunt.

She had meant to blow the Professor’s mind, but it felt like the exact opposite had played out. It was hard to be disappointed by that.

For a moment that felt like a small eternity, Gwen could only stare at the ceiling, numb to the world but smiling through her heaving breaths. Then she yelped, the Professor grabbing her legs just under her knees, forcefully pushing them up and back. In short order, Gwen found her hips raised and her back pinned to the wooden floor, feet dangling in the air. Instinctively, her hands spread out and pressed against the floor to balance herself out.

The Professor replaced the not-so-scenic view of the ceiling she had been enjoying up until that point, his sheer lust obvious even through his angry expression. He stayed squatting over her, hands sliding down to grab her thighs and keep Gwen steady. High and blissful from her orgasm, she stared at him for several seconds, not even thinking about how the position he put her in exposed both her cunt and asshole to him. Then she giggled again, breathless and wild, whispering words she would later regret. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re mad, Reid.”

“The Professor,” he whispered. “I told you to call me ‘the Professor’.”

“Huh?-- oooooh, FUCK!” Gwen yowled out a moment later as the Professor plunged his cock into her asshole, spit-shined and soaking wet from the time Gwen spent riding it. Her fingers quickly curled against the floor, one of her nails cracking in the process. “OH, FUCK!” She wasn’t ready at all for it; there was no buildup, no foreplay teasing her ass open. Though the Professor’s dick was slick enough for a trip down the road less traveled, it was also  _ way too fucking big _ for the path it was going down.

It burned, and it should have hurt. That was what he was going for after all of Gwen’s little needling, however unintentional it was. His hefty balls slapped against the bottom of her ass as he bottomed out inside her, spreading the tight little ring of muscles that served as her ass’ gatekeeper far wider than she ever would have thought possible. The Professor pulled back partway, then thrust again, quickly settling into a rough and merciless rhythm, truly pounding Gwen’s ass, each thrust pushing her against the floor.

It should have hurt, but it didn’t. Not the way he meant it to. In his anger, he had severely underestimated what a super’s body was capable of. Gwen wasn’t able to scream like she screamed before; she only managed the one wail of pleasure before it all became throaty gasps and moans. 

“QUIET THE FUCK DOWN OR I’M CALLING THE SUPER,” the neighbor shouted out again, once again ignored.

This time, she didn’t get louder as her second orgasm rapidly came upon her, just quieter and quieter, tears of raw pleasure coming to her eyes, making her vision hazy. She went altogether silent when she was a hair away from cumming, her mouth hanging open. Just one more thrust would get her there. 

But it wasn’t the thrust that got her to the finish line. It was the Professor pulling his cock out that did it, leaving her ass agape just like her mouth. She mewled out, pressing her head back hard against the floor as her body shook in pleasure. As the Professor moved out of her vision, she closed her eyes and rode the waves, her legs thumping to the floor as he released them. Gwen went quiet again when his cock pushed into her open lips, letting him do exactly as he pleased as her legs continued to quiver. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he facefucked her quickly and brutally. 

With the incense having reached its peak effect on her, she loved every second of it. If he had just stopped to ask if he could go straight from anal to oral, she probably would have said no. Biting back a groan, he pulled back to his mouth and shot the first part of his load inside her mouth, dotting her tongue and the insides of her cheek. Right afterwards, he pulled the rest of the way out and sprayed her face -- something she also would have said no to, if he asked without the incense. By the time he was done, it felt like four men had just given her a bukkake.

“Fuck,” he groaned. Gwen both heard and felt his ass hit the mat. Her lips curled in a lazy smile, and she finally went limp. He followed suit, flopping down on his back. “What the fuck is with your endurance, woman?” he asked, weariness in his voice. “I’m gonna need an energy drink to go again.”

He didn’t even ask if she wanted to go again. He just knew that she did. Gwen shivered, then smiled. “Think I could use one, too,” she whispered throatily. “Got any?”

“Yeah, in the fridge.” It was tempting to just roll over, crawl between his legs and suck on his cock until it was hard again, but hydration  _ was _ pretty important. She already felt like a sweaty mess. 

Lifting a hand, she swiped some cum away from her eyes, then slowly blinked them open. “Age before beauty, hey?” she suggested, glancing at the Professor and smiling. “I want to wash my face, anyway. Let me grab them.”

“Sure,” the Professor mumbled, rubbing at his face. Gwen rose nimbly to her feet, bare feet padding over the floor as she swayed towards the obvious door to his kitchen, indolent in her afterglow. “Oh, shit. Wait--”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind a mess,” Gwen assuaged lazily, turning the doorknob and pushing it open. She took one step in her portal, then stopped in her tracks and stared in confusion at the sight that waited for her. The Professor’s escort was still in his apartment, still wearing a ridiculously slutty french maid outfit. She was  _ almost _ on her hands and knees. With her head down low, both of her arms were tucked under her body, double-fisting the rolling pin she was busily fucking her cunt with. Her long tongue lapped away at the cum on the floor, moaning at the taste of it.

“Oh, shit, sorry--” Gwen began, ready to back out and close the door. The redheaded woman lifted her head and met Gwen’s eyes, hazy and high out of her mind. She suddenly realized where she remembered the trenchcoat from. Mary Jane Watson owned one just like it. It took another moment for Gwen to recognize her friend as the slut happily eating cum off the floor. “What the fuck?” Her eyes flared wide, and she began to turn around, to look towards the Professor. 

That extra moment was all the time the Professor needed to grab his supercharged taser and sneak up behind Gwen Stacy, jabbing her ass with it, her dulled spidey sense failing her. As the electricity ran through her body, she shaked and shuddered in more ways than one. The last thing she felt before her world went black was her cunt exploding with another orgasm, doing more to floor her than the taser itself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Want to get updates, support my work or contact me? You can join my Discord server here to get previews of my work: https://discord.gg/2kpsyxb
> 
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/niteynyx  
> Email: niteynyx@gmail.com  
> Discord: nitenyx#8654


End file.
